


Surprise Me

by ab2fsycho



Series: If on a Winter's Night an AU [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alex is loose again, I haven't decided yet, M/M, There will be sex, and Jack is surprisingly good at stalking too, and tea, and things, and this time she has a white chocolate mocha, coffee shop AU, guess we'll see what happens, in which Pitch is accidentally a stalker, of course, shut up alex, this is how we do it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:05:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 62,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ab2fsycho/pseuds/ab2fsycho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All's fair in love, war, and serving artists at Aster's coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys like this first chapter!

“Can I help you?”

“I’m thinking.”

There was a pause. A long pause. “Care to think a little faster?”

“How on earth do you manage to keep your job? It’s certainly not your attitude that keeps you here.” Overall, the slight boy with brunette hair looked bored to death with his job as a barista. Pitch noted the way he tilted his head with impatience, how his nostrils didn’t flare, how his eyes were somehow a shade of brown that could easily be mistaken for blue if one stared too hard. “Your eyes have a habit of changing color, don’t they?”

“Somehow, this is not the kind of conversation I find enjoyable. In fact, I’m feeling a bit disturbed right now. Can I help you, sir?”

That’s what Pitch got for giving voice to having noticed small details in the people he accidentally observed. Pitch’s hand tightened on his notebooks and folders as he reached up and adjusted his glasses. Steeling himself and giving the boy a hard stare, he said, “Just bring me some coffee. I don’t care how you fix it.”

“You’re giving me free reign to fix you whatever comes to mind? Do you realize how irresistible it would be for me to exploit your dollar?”

Pitch’s eyebrow raised as the boy slipped the pencil he had been holding behind his ear. “I expect you won’t. You don’t seem to be of that nature. Just surprise me with something dark and . . . less sugary. I’ll pay as soon as you’ve finished concocting something.”

“You’re actually serious about this.”

Oh, he was a bright one. It was a wonder the boy wasn’t blonde. Pitch blinked, dispelling the number of possible quips that came to mind automatically. If not for the curiosity and smallest hint of joy at being challenged in the boy’s face, Pitch may have chosen to walk away at that moment. But he didn’t. “Do your worst,” he glanced at the boy’s nametag, “Jack.”



Jack liked a challenge. Just when the day had grown boring and almost no customers had come in, that guy had shown up. When the tall, black haired man sat at the bar to watch what Jack concocted, the boy allowed himself a slight smile. He immediately set to work. He thought hard, reaching for the dark coffee instinctually. Yeah, Jack thought this guy seemed like the kind to drink dark coffee. But what kind of dark coffee, and what would he appreciate going into it. He didn’t like his drinks overly sugary. Jack peaked at the guy briefly. No laugh lines. Overall very sharp looking. Had he ever smiled in his life? Probably not. If he had, then not for very long. He was probably used to bitterness.

Jack started off making a long espresso. Though the guy didn’t seem the sweet type, he figured it wouldn’t hurt him if he added a teaspoon of sugar to the cup. Adding a little steamed milk turned the drink into an espresso macchiato. For fun, he drew a design using the foam. When he finished the process, he handed it to the customer.

The customer looked up from his papers, which were now carefully arranged before him. He took the cup from Jack, looking at it carefully. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“A drink.”

“I’m talking about the design. You couldn’t have drawn this yourself in that short amount of time.”

Jack felt the slightest blush creeping onto his cheeks. “I practice when I get the opportunity. Anything to upset the manager.”

“Again, I wonder how you still have a job.” The man continued staring at the design. “I almost feel guilty drinking it.” Then he took a sip. “Almost. That’s not bad.” Another sip. “Not bad at all. Is that sugar?”

“Only a teaspoon.” Jack began cleaning up as he spoke.

“Only a teaspoon.” At first, it sounded like a scoff. “It makes quite the difference. Not bad at all. How much do I owe you?” Jack recited the menu pricing, and the man handed him cash. “Keep the change.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asked.

“Yes. You look like you could use a haircut. Save up a little, and you can go to the barber across the street.” Without thinking, Jack looked down and ran a hand over his hair. He glanced back up at the customer as he placed the money in the register. “I was right, by the way.”

“About what?”

“Well, two things. You didn’t exploit my dollar too much, for one. You didn’t take cash out for the tip I offered you, either. Also, your eyes do change color.” He pointed at his own pale eyes to demonstrate. “While you were making the coffee, your eyes were blue. Your eyes darkened just now, when I mentioned the condition of your hair. I find that rather interesting.”

“Do you make observations about people often?”

“Very often. I try not to say these things out loud, but sometimes I slip.”

“I’m just hoping you’re not a serial killer. My day was going so well.” He pulled his pencil from behind his ear and grabbed a napkin, doodling.

“What about my observation gave you that impression?” He was looking over his own paperwork as they spoke.

“I’m not used to people paying too much attention to me, believe it or not.”

Just then, the bell on the door rang and a tall man with tattoos running up the length of his arms stepped in. He looked like he belonged on a hike in the mountains rather than in a coffee shop. He carried with him rolls of paper, and Jack could tell he had just been commissioned for a design. “What’re you doin’, mate? I thought I told you not to draw on the job.”

“I was doing no such thing.” Jack replaced the pencil behind his ear, crumpling the napkin.

“Yeah, whatever.” Jack’s manager Aster looked to the man drinking the espresso macchiato. “Pitch Black? Back in town, are ya?”

“Pitch Black?” Jack asked. “The horror novelist?” He glanced at the man sitting at the bar, somewhat surprised he hadn’t recognized him. Then he grinned mischievously. 

“Glad to see you still use my pseudonym and not my real name, Edgar,” Pitch uttered before he sipped his coffee again.

“Keep calling me by my first name and that’ll change.”

“So you are a serial killer,” Jack interceded, a smirk on his face.

“You’re ridiculous.” Aster turned to Pitch. “Has he bothered you as incessantly as he bothers me?”

“You manage this young man? How on earth do you do it?”

“You’re this close to unemployment, Jackson Overland,” Aster said, holding up his fingers to indicate just how close. “Don’t be bothering my customers.”

“He wasn’t bothersome. Quite entertaining, actually.”

“Well, that’s a first. You just received a compliment, you brat,” Aster grumbled as he set his designs in the back and returned with an apron.

“I can’t believe your name is Edgar,” Jack whispered, his smile widening as he began straightening out various items on the counter to occupy himself. Honestly, he was more impressed with that than being in the same vicinity as a writer such as Pitch Black. Aster just didn’t look like an Edgar. It’s the little things that make Jack happy.

“If I hadn’t just landed another job, you’d be receiving one helluva beating right now.”

“You could get in trouble, threatening your employees like that.” Jack’s teasing elicited a chuckle out of Pitch as he continued staring at the papers in front of him. “What brings you back to Burgess anyway, Mr. Black?”

“That’s Professor to you,” Aster pointed out.

“Just Pitch, thank you. I’ve taken up a position as an adjunct at the community college.”

“Awesome! Teaching what? English?”

“No. Psychology.”

Jack’s smile reached his ears by this point. “Somehow, that seems fitting.” 

“I know that grin. Stop thinking.” Aster turned to Pitch. “It’s dangerous to let him think.”

“How do you two know each other, anyway?” Jack asked.

“Went to college together. He was about . . . ten years older than the average student. Made for some interesting conversations. Fun times. No one could pronounce his real name properly,” Aster said openly.

“Don’t remind me,” Pitch murmured as he continued reading without stopping.

The bell rang again and in stepped a hulking figure of a man and a petite woman, each holding the hand of the little girl between them. The man wore a red shirt and brown trousers, his sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoos on each forearm. His brown hair, mustache, and beard were starting to gray. The woman was brunette with light brown skin, a pair of colorful feathers dangling from her ears. The earrings matched her equally colorful dress. Jack straightened up and beamed, looking at the little girl in particular. She was dressed just as eclectically as her mother, but didn’t look the least bit pleased with how her day was going. Pitch fell noticeably silent at their appearance. “Look who’s out and about after her first dentist appointment!”

The little girl glared at him, he cheeks swollen from the procedure she’d endured. Her mother spoke up. “She’s not very happy with me right now. Hopefully a milkshake will change that.”

“I want chocolate,” the girl grumbled. Jack successfully kept himself from laughing at how her swollen cheeks affected her speech.

“Vanilla, please. No whipped cream,” her mother corrected as she lifted the five-year-old onto a chair two seats away from Pitch. After sitting down, she turned to her daughter. “You don’t wanna be bouncing off the rafters, okay dear?”

“Heh. Something she and Aster have in common,” the man commented with a snort.

“Hush, you,” the manager replied. It was normal for them to poke fun at each other. North and Aster had been friends for a long while.

Jack did chuckle as the girl rolled her eyes at the banter. “One vanilla shake for Baby Tooth.” He set to work making the beverage.

“I want a cherry,” she murmured to her mother.

“No solids for a few hours, Searra.”

“How’s work, Toothiana?” Aster asked the woman as North folded his arms and stared at the menu a little longer.

“It’s busy at the dentist’s office. Hardly any time for my side projects.” She gestured to the man staring at the menu. “North’s been really busy. You should see the progress he’s made.”

“I’m sure we will at the meeting this weekend,” Aster said.

“Indeed you shall. It is my best yet,” North boasted. His confidence made Jack smile.

“I’m looking forward to it. I could use the creative thinking and all,” Toothiana stated. She perked up at something before asking him, “Did you get that gardening job?”

It was Aster’s turn to beam. “You betcha. You shoulda seen their faces when I showed them my designs.”

Toothiana withheld her squeal of excitement and just resorted to triumphantly shaking her hands in the air. “Congratulations!”

“Milkshake done,” Jack said, setting the drink in front of the girl happily. Even though it wasn’t the flavor she’d wanted, the girl smiled happily at the ice cream and began sucking it down greedily. Jack looked at Toothiana. “Mango smoothie, as per usual?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What are you trying today, North?” Jack asked as Aster set to work on Toothiana’s order.

“I can’t decide,” the man spoke, scratching his beard.

“Is there something you haven’t tried? I’d be surprised, honestly.”

North sniggered at Jack. “You are probably correct.”

“Let him surprise you. He won’t disappoint,” Pitch muttered without looking up.

North and Toothiana glanced at Pitch. North had to do a double take before throwing his arms up excitedly. “Pitch has returned!”

“Hi!” Toothiana said at the same time, surprised at herself for not having noticed beforehand. “How are you?”

“I am we—!” Pitch was cut off by a massive hug from North, who almost lifted him out of his seat. Pitch’s eyes bulged behind his glasses as undignified grumbles of surprise escaped him. Jack wanted to feel embarrassed for the man, but he was too busy laughing with Aster and North. When North finally released Pitch, the writer took a moment to breathe before smoothing out his outfit and readjusting his glasses. “I see that hasn’t changed,” he growled after a moment.

North let loose another hearty laugh. “Why so surprised?”

“I would think you would’ve learned assaulting people wasn’t always welcomed by now.”

“Don’t be so surly,” North said, chuckling and patting Pitch’s back. Jack felt bad for the guy. He looked wholly uncomfortable with the situation.

“What brings you back?” Toothiana asked, changing the subject as her daughter finished the milkshake and Aster brought over Toothiana’s mango smoothie.

“Business. Bit of writer’s block as well,” he answered, reorganizing his papers.

“You should come to our meetings! We get together every month to talk about what we’re working on,” she said.

“You are writers, now?” Pitch asked skeptically.

“No, we work in other mediums. North’s into woodworking. Aster does both interior and landscape designing. That’s also their careers. Hearing them talk about past and current projects helps a lot. Meetings really get the juices flowing.”

“What do you do?” he asked.

“I paint. Acrylics. Sandy meets with us, too.”

“He still dabbles in the arts?” Pitch asked.

“Yeah. He tried glassblowing recently, but I think he gave up on it.”

“That was for the best, I think,” North added. “He almost burned his hand off.” North turned to Jack. “Go ahead and surprise me. Make it good.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said cheerily. It must be his lucky day. Although, it really didn’t take much to please North. 

“I will consider your offer. For now, I have other matters to attend to.” He gathered his assortment of papers, folders, and notebooks before standing up. Polishing off the macchiato, he bid them farewell. The bell rang as he left.

“Still a stick in the mud, that one,” North said as Jack handed him a variation of a white chocolate mocha.

“He’s not too bad,” Jack said. “Did you guys always make him feel uncomfortable?”

“Honestly, it never really took much to make him feel uncomfortable,” Toothiana explained. “He was altogether a very private individual. He never spoke much. He simply . . . observed.”

“Heh. Writer thing, I guess,” Jack said.

“You just like him because he complimented you,” Aster jibed.

“He said I was entertaining. That’s nothing to swoon over, Edgar,” Jack jested.

“Clean up this mess, you gumby.” Jack laughed at Aster’s disgruntled look, then began wiping down the counters. Aster thought about something for a moment, then turned to Toothiana. “I didn’t think he drank coffee.”

“Who?” she asked.

“Pitch.”

She pondered before responding, “I didn’t think so either.”

North took a seat beside her as Jack said, “Maybe he’s doing some research.”

“Researching coffee? Really?” Aster asked, a note of sarcasm in his tone.

“Some writers do that kind of thing!” Jack defended himself. Then another thought struck him. “Or he really is a serial killer and he’s looking for his next victim.”

“Guess that means your next, kiddo. Nice knowing ya,” Aster said. Jack hit him with the rag, making Aster turn around and splash him with creamer. Jack chuckled. “You’ll be cleaning that up, too.”



Jack’s schedule was an unexciting one. Well, it was unexciting according to most people. He enjoyed every minute of each job he had. Working for Aster, Sanderson, and Toothiana, there was much fun to be had. His schedule on a good day was as follows: early mornings at Aster’s coffee shop, picking up and babysitting Searra until Toothiana got off work, and late nights at Sanderson’s club. The coffee shop job was consistent and easy. He needed consistency most mornings, considering he was usually at the club past midnight. Working at the coffee shop could get boring depending on the day, though. Business tended to dwindle in the hours between seven and noon, then began dying off after the lunch rush. Jack was okay with that level of boredom most days. His club job varied a great deal. Some nights he was helping tend the bar. Others he was filling in for a bouncer. Though he was small, he could talk just about anyone out of a fight. That got handy when things got rough at the club. He had the most fun with Searra, though. One of Jack’s favorite things to do with her was take her to the park to hang out with some of the other kids. She and her friend Sophie were notorious hiders, but Jack was an amazing seeker. When Sophie’s older brother Jamie struggled to find them, Jack could point them out without even blinking.

Jack enjoyed his hectic life. He didn’t always have enough money to enjoy what other members of his age group boasted about doing on the weekends, but he liked it. His landlord thought his late nights meant he was, in fact, acting his age. Honestly, he stayed busy and kept up with his bills as much as he could. Busy worked for him, especially when his jobs were this gratifying. He was having fun in his own way.

He was enjoying the Saturday of Aster’s meeting with Toothiana, North, and Sanderson very much. He had the whole coffee shop to himself, save for the few straggling customers. It was the perfect time of day. People weren’t pouring in through the doors. Things had settled rather nicely. Even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to, he kept his sketchbook handy on these days. Somehow, he still managed to keep it out of the customers’ lines of view. It wasn’t like they noticed what he was doing anyway. As he’d told Pitch Black, hardly anyone ever noticed him. The customers were creating a healthy amount of commotion. Nothing too loud, but just enough for Jack to work on his current sketch without completely losing focus on the job. 

The bell rang, bringing Jack’s attention to the incoming customer. Speaking of Pitch Black, in came the novelist, carrying what looked like the same set of folders and notebooks.

“Hello, hello,” Jack greeted, hiding his sketchbook under the counter. “I see you decided against attending the meeting.”

“I am neither social nor likeable, two things that those four individuals have in common with one another. Therefore, I choose to spend my Saturday being pestered by a bored youth such as yourself.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for said youth. Would hate for him to interfere with your business,” Jack joked. Pitch actually smirked at that. “What will you be having today?”

“Go ahead and give me that same concoction,” he said as he began organizing his folders just as he’d done before.

“So I chose well! Awesome,” Jack rejoiced as he began making another espresso macchiato.

When Jack finished making the beverage and got ready to hand it to Pitch, the man asked, “What were you working on when I walked in?”

Jack paused, the drink still in his hand and hovering just in front of Pitch. He cleared his throat, setting it down in front of the novelist. “You only get to ask questions like that if I can ask you what you’re working on.”

Pitch sighed loudly. “I suppose that’s fair. So what were you working on? Homework?”

Jack snorted. “Nah. Been out for a few years. Still paying dearly for it.” He began cleaning up the counters. “So what are you working on?”

“Combination of ideas and paperwork for the college.”

“Sounds like so much fun.” Pitch handed him the cash. Once put away, Jack settled back into his seat and pulled his sketchbook out again. Before he opened it, he glanced at Pitch. “Would you mind not saying anything about this to Aster?”

“I saw nothing.” Jack grinned at the novelist’s answer and opened his book, pulling the pencil from behind his ear. He resumed sketching uninterrupted, listening to Pitch move his papers and folders about while the other customers talked. After a few moments, he got caught up enough in his sketching that he didn’t notice the lack of movement in the novelist in front of him.



Pitch stared at the boy, his hands folded in front of his chin. The rapid changes in the boy’s eye color had intrigued him at first, but now he was trying to figure out more about him based on his body language. Jack’s shoulders seemed to be in a permanent slumped position. He sat like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He hunched over his work protectively. Pitch found himself believing the boy’s words from their previous meeting. It was quite obvious that he was used to going unnoticed by his physical appearance alone. If anything, he’d grown so accustomed to it that he struggled to accommodate those who did garner attention by taking up the minimal amount of space.

Being back in Burgess felt strange. Here, people knew him. Here, he wasn’t isolated. He was beginning to miss the solitude, and yet at the same time there were enough fresh faces in what he considered his hometown to occupy his inquisitive mind. One fresh face in particular was staring intently at his sketchbook.

The boy seemed ordinary at first glance. However, Pitch found him a more interesting specimen compared to the rest of the individuals in the shop. He glanced around, unimpressed with the small groups of people. Everything about them was easy to read. Everything about their current situations seemed obvious. They bored him. Jack didn’t.

“Choosing your next victim?” Jack suddenly asked. 

Pitch turned back to the boy, raising an eyebrow at his comment. “You honestly think I’m a serial killer, don’t you?”

“Hey! I’m not judging. What you do in your spare time is your business,” Jack said with a smile, gazing back down at his sketch.

“What if I were a serial killer? How do you think I should take your words?” Pitch inquired.

“Aster already thinks I’d be your next victim, so I may as well get a few jokes in.” Pitch reluctantly smiled at Jack’s reasoning, hiding his lips with his hands as he looked around more. When Jack spoke again, it was only a whisper. “Tell me what you see in the customers, and I’ll tell you if it’s true.”

Pitch turned and squinted at the boy. “You know all of these people?”

“Not personally.”

“But you know about them.”

“Hey, I get bored and eavesdrop. I only get to sketch when Aster’s away.”

“So you’re drawing.”

“You gonna accept my challenge?”

Pitch stared at the boy a little while longer before glancing back at the customers. He hesitated, then uttered just low enough for Jack to hear, “The couple by the window. He is interested in her, but he has done something to upset her. He likely did it a long while ago, and she still bears a grudge against him for it. Most likely, she only comes here with him because someone puts her up to it. A member of her family or a close friend, maybe.”

“Her little brother. He likes the guy, but you’ve hit the nail on the head. She’s still pissed at him for . . . well, what she calls a kidnapping. Don’t know all the details and he looks shifty to me.”

“Can’t be too painful of an arrangement. He’s obviously wealthy.”

“Always picks up the tab.”

“He is significantly older than her.”

“She likes to remind him of his age, too.”

“He appears to be prepared for her to splash him in the face with her drink.”

“It’s about time for it. Coming in three . . . two . . . and—,” Jack pointed his finger at the couple just as the young woman removes the lid from her cup and splashes the remainder of her coffee in the gentleman’s face. He sits there, unmoving with his eyes closed as she gets up, slings her bag over her shoulder, and exits the coffee shop. Pitch looks away, stifling a chuckle and trying to cover the fact that he’d just witnessed the man’s embarrassment. Jack called to the man, “I’ve got it, J.”

“Thank you,” the gentleman said as he dried himself with table napkins and followed after the woman who’d stained his white shirt.

Jack takes a moment to clean up the mess, leaving Pitch to his work. Pitch shakes his head, still smiling over the ordeal. He really shouldn’t find so much pleasure in watching another man’s misfortune, but had to admit that the ordeal was entertaining. When Jack returned after wiping down the table and mopping the floor around it, he slid back behind the counter and leaned over again. “Anything else you’ve noticed?”

Pitch smirked. “The young man by the wall. With the laptop. He’s been struggling to either finish or edit his story for many years. It may very well be that he is about to achieve his goal and see the work in action. Must be a script of some form.”

“Screenplay. He’s a horror fan,” Jack confirmed.

“Explains the faces he’s making.”

“I thought he was writing porn until I asked.”

“What?” Pitch asked, narrowing his eyes on Jack.

Jack shrugged and blushed. “He confuses me with those facial expressions. Don’t judge me.”

After getting over his bafflement at the boy’s honest reply, Pitch continued, “The old couple in the booth own a farm out of town.”

“I knew they were from out of town, but how can you tell they have a farm?” Jack asked.

“You didn’t notice all the horse hair on their clothes?”

“Never heard them talk about horses.”

“With most horse people, it would sound like they’re talking about human beings when they refer to their equine.”

“That makes sense,” Jack uttered with a smile. “I just always thought they had a lot of kids.”

“In their eyes, they very well could be their children.”

“Just how far into the future can you see with those glasses?” Jack asked wryly.

Again, Pitch squinted at the young man. “What does this have to do with my glasses?”

“How were you able to see hair from all the way over here?”

“My eyesight isn’t that bad. These are reading glasses.”

“Do you ever take them off?”

“If I did that, I’d forget them.”

“Explains why you’re always looking over your glasses when you stare at people.”

So he’d been watching him, too. Suddenly, Pitch had found himself saying, “It seems I am crossing into another killer’s territory.”

Jack stared quizzically at him for a moment. When he understood what Pitch was suggesting, he flashed a white grin and tilted his head in appreciation. He held up his hands in mock surrender and whispered, “You caught me.”

Pitch smirked. “Conditions of boredom, I suppose.” Jack nodded. Then Pitch asked, “Shall I tell you more about yourself?”

“Other than the eye thing, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Jack seemed to give the offer serious consideration. Then he picked up his sketchbook again and said, “Maybe some other time.”

With that, they returned to their work.



Pitch Black became a regular at the coffee shop. He usually appeared on weekends, and sometimes on weekday afternoons not long before Jack clocked out to pick up Searra from school. His and Jack’s game of people watching persisted, but Jack had not yet allowed Pitch to give him his observations of the boy.

But today, Jack actually had a day off. The day was overcast, but the temperature was just perfect for him. September weather was his favorite, and he couldn’t bear to sleep in any longer. On his rare off day, he tried to catch up on his sleep. That just wasn’t going to happen on a Sunday like this. Slipping into jeans and sneakers, he threw a hoodie over his head and grabbed his sketchbook before running out the door. Halfway down the hall, he had to double back to make sure he locked his apartment. When he was certain it was secure, he turned back down the hallway. Seeing as he was faster than the elevator, which often got stuck on unsuspecting tenants, he preferred to run down the stairs instead. If he was lucky, he didn’t run into the landlord at the bottom. If he wasn’t, he got sidetracked by whatever mood the man was in that day.

This wasn’t a lucky day.

“Late for work, Overland?” the gray-haired old man muttered.

Jack paused briefly to work through what his landlord had asked him. The old man’s voice was so gruff that Jack had once made the mistake of asking him to repeat himself. That had immediately put him on the man’s bad side. So now, he tried to figure out what the old man had grumbled at him before guessing and risking an answer. “No. Day off.”

He’d hoped the answer would satisfy the man, but was rewarded only with a glower. “Your rent was due yesterday.”

Of course. That was the only thing the landlord cared about. “I get paid this Thursday. I’ll have it for you before you know it.”

“You bet I’ll have it,” the landlord groused before moving past Jack. As Jack left, he heard the old man grumbling about the irresponsibility of the boy’s generation. This sort of thing usually put Jack in a mood just as bad as the landlord’s. He didn’t feel like giving in to that today, however. Deciding not to linger on the tardiness of his payments, Jack continued on outside and made his way down the streets of Burgess.

He didn’t stop walking until he was just outside the town limits and sitting on a rock beside the lake. Kids came here to play every now and then. In the summer, the lake was a great place to swim. If it froze over enough in the winter, kids could ice skate. Jack hadn’t seen that happen in years, though. Winters just kept getting warmer, which honestly bothered him. He liked the cold. He was outside more during the winter than he ever was in the summer.

Gathering his pencils together, he got comfortable on the rock and opened his sketchbook. Setting to work on his latest piece, he was glad that the lake was free of people today. He was alone with nature. And with his thoughts. Most days, being alone with his thoughts bothered him. Not today.

He wondered what had brought on such cheer. He hadn’t felt so stimulated in a very long time.

The origins of the drawing he was working on seemed simple enough. He’d started off with a rough sketch of a busy street in Burgess. Once that was finished he’d started to duplicate it, only this time he began redesigning the individuals and objects on the paper. Instead of simple lines, he’d used words and descriptions to create the images. This next stage in his project involved adding color to the words and descriptions which made up the busy street.

Jack worked at the drawing, not even bothering to keep track of time. He didn’t bother to keep track of his surroundings, either. So when a stick hit him in the head, he jumped and dropped his pencil. He scrambled to catch it before it rolled into the lake below. “Hey!” Jack exclaimed, glaring out at whoever had thrown the stick. It was Jamie. Settling back down into his seating position, he sighed and tried for a smile. “What are you up to, kid?”

“Catching up on some reading. Or trying to, at least.”

Jack shook his head, going back to his sketching. “Schoolwork?”

“Yeahno,” Jamie combined the two words, holding up his latest acquisition. Another book involved something cryptozoological.

“Still looking for Big Foot?” Jack asked.

“No. This time it’s the chupacabra.”

“That’s a creature I’m gonna have to say no to.”

Jamie actually looked deflated. “Why? Have you seen all the evidence? The victims?”

“Spoiler alert: it can all be explained by the natural decaying process of a carcass.”

“Not all of it!” Jamie was incorrigible when it came to this sort of thing. Jack actually liked that he was so willing to believe in things like that.

So most of the time, he went along with it. Today, he smiled and said, “If you say so.”

“Anyway,” the kid continued, “what are you working on?”

“Pet project. Where’s Sophie?”

“With Searra. Doing girl things.”

“Hey. Girls have fun, too.”

Jamie settled down on the ground beside Jack’s rock, opening his book and reading in silence. The two didn’t speak for a long time, Jack continuing with his work and Jamie doing research on his latest creature. Time seemed to move at a slower pace when people were around. At least, that was the case with Jack. Maybe it was just him, though. He usually wasn’t so sure. After what was most likely only a few minutes (it honestly felt like an hour to Jack), Jamie asked, “Are you friends with a serial killer?”

“Where on earth did you hear that?” Jack asked absently.

“Searra’s mom was talking about a guy coming to town. Or back to town, actually. Said you called him that.”

Jack chuckled. “He’s not a serial killer. I just call him that to get on his nerves.”

“She said he likes it.”

For some reason, that made Jack look up at the boy. Jamie was still looking at his book as he spoke. “Did she, now?”

“Yeah. Said he was never this social with anyone.”

Jack squinted. “That seems odd. Weren’t they friends in college or something?”

“Dunno.”

Silence resumed, but now Jack was starting to come up with questions of his own. Before long, he asked Jamie, “What else did Tooth say?”

He swore he saw a smile on Jamie’s face. “He was in the army. She called him a funny name.”

“Really? What’s that?”

“I can’t pronounce it.”

“Dude, that is not how you reconnaissance. You gotta remember these details!” Jamie and Jack laughed at that.

It wasn’t until after they fell silent again that Jack wondered why the thought of Pitch Black enjoying his company made him giddy with excitement.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I said I'd have this up last week but I lied. Much apologies, guys. I really intended to have this all written.
> 
> What will probably happen from here on out is that I'll write a chapter for Surprise Me every other week and work on filling requests in the weeks in between. As always, what I finish gets posted immediately. Either way, expect SOMETHING from me each week. No guarantees if that something is what you're looking for though.
> 
> Thank you for your patience. Senior year in college is giving me a whoopin'.

“Just quit smoking.”

“She quit two months ago.”

“Then she has a terrible habit of relapsing. And he lives on coffee.”

“Coffee and tea. Anything caffeinated, really. I call them the twitchy couple.”

“It suits them.”

“You two are freakin’ me out,” Aster interrupted them.

Pitch looked up at him over his glasses, but it was Jack who spoke first. “Just observing. No biggie.”

“That’s how it starts. Soon you’ll be plotting something.”

“I only plot on the second date,” Jack teased Aster. 

Aster’s eyebrow quirked as he saw a facial expression he didn’t recognize crawl across Pitch’s face. Squinting, he was pleased that Jack was too busy jibing at him to notice the face the author had just made. “Keep your observations a little quieter. And get your sketches off the counter, you brat. What have I told you?”

“You keep saying that I’m sketching, but really I think you just need to get your eyes checked,” Jack muttered as he grabbed up the napkins he’d been doodling on and slipped them into the garbage before he started wiping down the counter. Sly, Aster thought. Just not sly enough. Sneaking over to the trashcan, he pulled the napkins and untangled the wad. Aster’s brow furrowed as he stared down at a face that he recognized. Before he got a better look at the drawing, the napkins were being yanked out of his hand. Jack said petulantly, “Dude, what the hell!”

“Watch your tongue! My shop, my rules!”

“Well, don’t just go fumbling through people’s trash like that!” Jack’s face was red now as he crumpled the doodles in his fist, which lifted Aster’s annoyance and made him smile uncontrollably at the kid.

“Did you hear me? My shop. That means my trash.”

“Alright, trash it is.” Then Jack blew his nose on the napkins. When he was done, he held them out to Aster. “Wanna look now?”

Aster glared. “Why do I keep you around? Go wash your hands, you.”

Jack threw the wad away again and left for the restroom. Jack’s blush hadn’t receded. Glancing at Pitch, who was now busy with paperwork, he wanted to say something. He elected not to mention that the little brat had been sketching the author. Three weeks the two had been conversing over macchiato and customers. Aster couldn’t help but notice that this was the most he’d ever heard Pitch talk in one sitting.

On the one hand, it was nice to see the kid take an interest in someone. For all of Jack’s annoying habits, he was friendly. But he didn’t have many friends, from what Aster could tell. He kept a surprising amount of distance between himself and others. On the other, Jack could not have chosen a stranger individual to crush on. From what Aster remembered of Pitch, the author made Jack’s standoffishness seem intrusive. Despite how long Aster, North, Toothiana, and Sandy had known Pitch, the only thing they really knew about him was that Pitch Black was not his real name. It was merely a pen name the author thought more appealing than his real name. And he’d been in the military, and received an honorable discharge for reasons they’d never managed to extract from him. In most of the five’s conversations, Pitch had been the silent spectator. He only ever commented if he had a wealth of knowledge regarding the topic. He’d been one hell of a study partner.

Before Aster could ask Pitch what he thought of his employee, a group of customers walked in. Aster hurried over to serve them. Two blonde roasts, a pumpkin spice, and an apple cider later, and Jack hadn’t emerged from the bathroom. At first, Aster thought the kid was just being meticulous about his cleanliness. Then he realized this was Jack he was talking about. Jack was never meticulous about anything.

It wasn’t until the four customers took a seat outside on the patio that Jack emerged from the bathroom. “Where you been, mate? Coulda used you out here.”

“Sorry.” There was something in his voice that caught Aster’s attention. Was he shaking?

“Kid, you alright?” Aster asked.

“Yeah,” Jack answered a little too quickly as he made his way to the trash can. Lifting the bag out of the bin, he tied the top as he said, “I’ll just . . . take this out.”

As Jack left through the back of the coffee shop, Aster’s nose wrinkled involuntarily while he thought about the change in Jack. It wasn’t until he noticed Pitch watching the area Jack had left out of that he realized he wasn’t the only concerned individual. “So Legolas. What do your elf eyes see?”

“Excuse me?” Pitch asked, glancing over his spectacles at Aster.

“You’re the observant one. What just happened?”

Pitch squinted at Aster, as if debating whether or not to say anything. When he did speak, it was in a hushed tone. “He knew those four. Well. There must have been a falling out of some form that left Jack out of the circle.”

Aster stared out the shop window at the four sitting on the patio. Two girls, one short-haired brunette and one blonde. The blonde’s hair was braided. Both boys were brunettes, only one having a decent amount of facial hair. That one had his arm draped over the brunette girl’s shoulders as he sipped his blonde roast. They looked like they were Jack’s age. Maybe Jack had gone to school with them.

Aster’s musings ceased as Jack slid past him and took his usual seat behind the counter. While he was no longer shaking, he was incredibly stiff. No longer the languid, relaxed Jackson Overland. As the interior of the coffee shop cleared of all other customers, leaving Aster, Jack, and Pitch, Aster asked Jack, “Do I need to ask them to leave?”

Jack looked confused. “What?”

“Those four outside. Are they a bother to you?”

Jack’s eyes widened. “What makes you think that?” His tone was defensive, his posture growing stiffer than Aster had thought possible. Aster didn’t answer. Jack shook his head, saying, “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”

Aster wanted to believe that. He could tell Pitch didn’t believe it one bit.



It was a long while before the four customers left the patio. Jack managed to stay occupied until then. A wedge of silence had been driven between Pitch, Aster, and himself. He would’ve started scribbling on a napkin if his creativity hadn’t been shot. Seeing his old college friends had severely thrown off his mood. He wished he could remember the good times they’d had together. All he could remember, though, was how they’d forgotten him.

They probably wouldn’t have recognized him. He’d been bleach-blonde in college, a popular art student with top marks. Then life had happened. How did the song go? Now you’re just somebody that I used to know, Jack thought. Such an overrated song, yet it sang the truth. He liked to think that most good songs rang with truth.

As he packed up his things and got ready to leave the shop, Pitch also gathered his materials. “Off duty now?” Pitch asked.

Jack was sort of relieved that he was the first to break the silence and not Aster. At the same time, he was still upset over the appearance of his old friends. “More like I’m on duty for something else and need to be somewhere to meet someone.”

“Off to pick up Searra from school then,” Pitch said, walking with Jack to the door.

Had Jack mentioned his other jobs in front of Pitch? He didn’t think he had. Then again, Baby Tooth and Toothiana visited often enough that he could’ve overheard. Or he was stalking Jack. Jack brushed the thought aside, then said, “Yeah. Where you headed?”

“Same direction. Meeting someone. Mind if I walk with you?”

Jack was determined for his cheeks not to flush, but he knew they would do so no matter how much he wished for them not to. “Sure.” That came out a little breathier than he’d intended.

Walking beside Pitch Black to the elementary school, Jack couldn’t help but stand a little straighter. The man was tall. Very tall. It unnerved Jack how tall he was. He didn’t think it should, but it did. Jack was tall. When he was in school, he was one of the tallest. It wasn’t until college that he met people who were closer to his height. Now he just felt . . . small.

Am I attracted to this sort of thing? Jack found himself thinking. He must be. Shushing his thoughts, he focused on staring straight ahead at the path. Pitch was the first to say something, “Those people. How did they harm you?”

Holy shit, Jack thought. He was watching. Of course he was watching. That’s what he did when he came to the coffee shop. He drank his macchiato and watched. He may as well have a goddamn nametag with his name and profession, his profession being ‘certified voyeur’ or ‘mother fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes’ . . . .

Jack forced his thoughts to silence. Jamming his shaking hands in his pockets, he tried to find a good way of answering. He decided on, “I was stupid. I messed things up. And now they’re happy and . . .,” he couldn’t finish. He was going to say that he was alone, but that didn’t feel right with Pitch walking beside him. It didn’t feel right when he had just left Aster’s shop and was on his way to pick up Searra. It didn’t feel right when he was at the club with Sandy, tending the bar, watching for troublemakers, or whatever the stout man needed him for that night. It just didn’t feel right. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel alone.

“I realize I am being intrusive,” Pitch said, “but how did you mess things up? You seem more terrified of them than they were of you.”

“They . . . they what?” Jack turned to look at Pitch as he walked.

The man had the face of a poker champion. It revealed absolutely nothing. “The brunette girl. She caught a glimpse of you, said nothing, then continued whatever conversation they were having at the time.”

Of course. She used to have long blonde hair, but had cut it off and gone natural ever since she’d started dating the guy. Like Pitch, he had his own pen name. The very thought of her, though, made him flinch. “She . . . she’s part of the reason we aren’t talking.”

“Let me guess,” Pitch began, then added softly, “because I know you won’t want to discuss it.” Clearing his throat, he said, “You had a crush on an individual in the group and you confided in her. When your true feelings came to light, she tried to help, encourage, or defend you but things became entirely too awkward for you and your crush. It created a divide in the group, and eventually you and the other individual split from the group.”

Jack said nothing. Pitch’s accuracy was incredible. He found himself responding, “To be fair, she moved back to Scotland. She was only studying abroad for two semesters, and I graduated.”

“But the rift was so bad that your other friends ignored you?” Pitch asked.

“I deserved it. I made a fool out of myself. And I got so busy that they gave up trying to get back in touch with me.” Jack looked down as he continued walking. His pace had gotten considerably slower. He was surprised to see that Pitch’s footfalls matched his.

“I find that hard to believe.” The author’s words took Jack by surprise about as much as his matching Jack’s pace with ease. Jack kept his eyes cast down, though. “From what I’ve seen of you, you have the self-esteem of a snail.”

“Excuse me?” Jack remarked. A small smile tugged at his lips, his mind screaming because he knew it was true. He just didn’t know how Pitch could tell. Mother fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes, he thought to himself.

“You hide behind your jokes and your sarcasm, but your posture clearly states that you do not have much in the way of self-worth. And one of the first things you told me when we met,” Jack could actually feel Pitch looking at him when he said, “was that you weren’t used to be noticed.”

That was paraphrasing things a bit, but Jack realized Pitch was right. Nodding, he shifted his gaze upward. “You do a lot of watching.”

“They are beneath you,” Pitch said.

“How do you know what’s beneath me?”

Now both of them were staring awkwardly ahead, and Jack wondered if he’d just screwed things up again. Then Pitch said, “Being shunned is a cruel punishment for the things you agreed happened. It’s a coward’s punishment. It’s one thing to have out your differences and agree to part ways. Another to simply stop talking to another person until you forget they ever existed. While you and this girl may have had your row, it doesn’t seem like the others did much in the way of helping or hindering. Other than that girl, who feels about as guilty as you do but thinks it too late to act on it.”

“Doesn’t that make me a coward as well?”

“You don’t avoid them because you solely think it’s too late. You also don’t want to dredge up trouble.”

Jack shook his head as they rounded the corner and entered the school district. “You are placing entirely too much faith in me.”

“And you have absolutely no faith in yourself.” They stopped walking outside of the bus loop of the elementary school where he was to meet Baby Tooth. Pitch turned to him before leaving and said. “Take care, Jackson Overland.”

“Same to you,” Jack half whispered as Pitch turned and left. He sincerely hoped he hadn’t noticed Jack’s incredible blush before leaving him to wait for Searra.



Pitch waited at the bus station, checking the time on his cell phone ever two minutes it seemed. The bus was late. The very thought unnerved him. The myriad of possibilities of what could’ve caused the bus to be late ran through his head and soon he was drowning in thoughts of despair. His leg started twitching. His senses were on high alert. He waited, knowing there really wasn’t anything he could do about the situation. Unless he ran all the way back to his apartment, got into his Sedan, and drove down the likely route. It would not have been the first time he’d tracked a bus.

The only thing stopping him was the thought of one Jackson Overland. For some reason, the thought of the young man soothed his senses and quieted his mind. Of course, thinking of what had happened to him earlier today only made Pitch fall into another pool of worry. All this feeling, and yet everyone saw him as stoic. Amazing. He’d fooled the world into thinking he was apathetic.

The sound of a bus pulling up made his head snap up. He stood as it pulled up, and promptly realized he wasn’t done worrying. Would she be on the bus? She had to be. She would’ve called if something had gone wrong, wouldn’t she? That is, if her phone wasn’t dead. Sometimes her phone died. It was rare, but it happened. Couldn’t she have borrowed someone else’s phone? No, that would mean she was talking to strangers. She’s a fully grown adult, she can handle strangers. Couldn’t she?

His stream of thought ended as soon as he saw a twenty-one-year-old young woman with long black hair step off the bus. Sighing loudly with relief, he waved for her. When she saw him her smile lit and she walked over to him, dropped her bags, and threw her arms around his neck. He was able to hide the smile as he embraced her. She muttered without releasing him, “Tell me you weren’t counting the seconds till I got here.”

“Just the minutes, this time,” he answered honestly. “Tell me you didn’t skip a class just so you could get here early.”

“Just drama 310.” Pitch pulled away and stared hard at her. She laughed aloud. “I’m kidding, Dad. Besides, it’s a one credit course and it was cancelled anyway.”

Pitch sighed with relief. “I think you intentionally worry me,” he said as he went to pick up one of her bags.

“You don’t need my help. You worry enough on your own.” She grabbed her other bag and they made their way down the street. “Enjoying being back in Burgess?”

“The experience has been less dull than in previous years.”

“Don’t just say that because I’m here,” she ascertained. He smiled again. Then she asked, “Any new novel ideas?”

“Many. It’s the actual writing that’s the trouble.”

“I imagine so. I may wind up finishing a paper while I’m here. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“How many pages?”

“Eight.”

“How much have you done?”

“The title.”

“Seraphina—.”

“Relax, Dad, I’ve got this.”

He found himself shaking his head and chuckling at the same time. “It’s been pleasant here.”

“Well, there’s a word I haven’t heard you use in reference to this town. What, have you got a crush?” Pitch had mastered the talent of keeping a straight face with everyone except his daughter. Only Seraphina could see past the stoicism and recognize the truth. But in this case, he wasn’t quite sure if what she was suggesting was the truth. His brow creasing the slightest bit must have alerted her to something. “Oh my God, you do.”

“I do not.” Did he? No. Crushes were for the young, and the last time he checked he wasn’t Seraphina’s age.

“You must. Who is she?” Pitch didn’t answer. Seraphina turned to him and her gaze narrowed. “Or who is he?”

“I do not have a crush.”

“Is he in that coffee shop? The one you mentioned a couple of weeks ago?”

“Seraphina—.”

“He is! He has to be! You don’t even drink coffee, and suddenly you’re going to a coffee shop on a regular basis—.”

“That does not mean I have a crush on the server.”

“He’s a server! A barista. Does that term still count if they’re male?” Seraphina was practically jumping with elation, her hair and short, dark green dress bouncing with each step. “You know where he lives, don’t you?”

“Oh, come now—.”

“Where does he live?”

“Within walking distance of the school district, just beside Sanderson’s club the Moon Clipper—Seraphina!”

“OH MY GOD!” This time, she was jumping up and down. Her feeling of triumph was evident. “You have a crush! Do you realize how amazing this is for me?!”

“It is not a crush, and why would this be amazing for you?”

“How old am I?”

“Why is that relev—?”

“How old am I, Dad?”

“Twenty-one.”

“That’s how long you’ve gone without showing interest in any human being whatsoever. You barely tolerate anyone other than me in your life. I was shocked that you’d even consider coming back to Burgess.”

Pitch fell silent. His daughter was right. He hadn’t shown any interest in maintaining a single relationship since his wife had passed. His sole purpose had become to provide a life for their daughter, and to protect her from the memories of the fatal accident that had taken her mother from her. From what the doctors could tell, Seraphina suffered from no post-traumatic stress at the time. In fact, she had no memory of the accident at all. Pitch feared the day that she would remember, though. At this age, it was unlikely that she would. Still, he worried that he wouldn’t be there for her if the memories ever did resurface.

“I maintain,” Pitch started, breaking off from his unsettling thoughts, “that I do not have a crush.”

“Just keep telling yourself that.” He thought she was finished until she said, “I want to meet him.”

“Of course you do.”

“This requires my seal of approval.”

Instead of responding, Pitch chuckled. He was certain that only made Seraphina more positive that he did have a crush.



Jack stumbled up the stairs late that night. He was so tired and sore from his night at the Moon Clipper that he hardly noticed his landlord walking past him.

“Rent is due tomorrow,” he barked.

The snide tone the old man greeted him with didn’t register. “I’ll have most of it for you in the morning.”

“It is morning,” the landlord grumbled as Jack neared his floor. “Late nights and no pay, soon you’ll be out of here.”

Jack ignored the old man as he made his way to his apartment. He’d worry about the rent in the morning. For now, he needed to sleep. If he was lucky, he might even have a pleasant dream or two.


	3. Chapter 3

“Hello.”

As the door rang, Jack stifled a yawn and looked up from his sketching. He didn’t recognize the voice, nor did he recognize the woman who stepped into the coffee shop with Pitch. Pitch looked like he had just swallowed something unpleasant, but the woman was very chipper as she approached the bar. “Hello, hello,” Jack responded, straightening up and shoving his work under the counter.

“Jack, please excuse my daughter—.”

“Daughter?” Jack’s smile widened at that. “A possibility to get insider information on you, my serial companion.”

The woman beamed at him, her eyes widening about as much as her grin. “And I get to see what my dad’s been up to around here.” She held out her hand. “Seraphina Pitchiner.”

Jack took the hand offered him. “Pitchiner. Is that your real last name?” Jack turned to Pitch. Pitch cut his eyes at Seraphina as if she had just revealed a terrible family secret.

Pitch and Seraphina took a seat. “Afraid so,” Pitch answered, adjusting his glasses almost nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Seraphina said to Pitch. “I won’t tell him your first name. You’re going to.”

“No,” Pitch said under his breath.

“In time, my serial companion. In time.” Jack actually found himself spinning in a circle before turning back to the two. “Now, I know what he likes. What would you like to order today, my lady?”

“Let’s try . . .,” she squinted at the menu, leaning on the counter and folding her hands, “a pumpkin spice. It’s October. Why not?”

“Why not indeed?” Jack asked, fixing up their drinks.

“And you can call me Sera,” she added.

“Very pleased to meet you, Sera.” As Jack continued to make the drinks, he asked, “So what are the two of you up to on a Saturday? Still avoiding the art group meetings with Toothiana and the lot, are we Pitch?”

“Art group meetings? Why _don’t_ you go to those, father?” Sera’s tone was laced with something not-quite-genuine. Was that sarcasm or mockery? Jack couldn’t really tell, but he could tell that Pitch wasn’t enjoying it. The stress the author was displaying seemed . . . kind of hilarious, actually.

“I do not think they cater to my art form,” Pitch said quietly.

“Anyway,” Sera said, turning back to Jack excitedly. “I’m here on break.”

“From classes?”

“Yep. Do you take classes?”

Jack smirked. “I did. Graduated a few years back, but still paying dearly for it.”

“Looking forward to that time in my life,” she said. This time, he definitely sensed the sarcasm in her tone. Handing her and Pitch their drinks, she reached into her pocket for her wallet. Pitch moved to quickly in handing over payment for both drinks. “Don’t you take his money! I’m paying!”

Jack froze, the money in his hand. “What?”

“Take the money. She can pay next time,” Pitch countered.

“Nope, I wanna pay this time,” she said, finally locating her wallet in one of her many pockets.

“Quick, take the money before it’s too late,” Pitch uttered.

“Don’t. You. Dare,” Sera argued.

“Uh . . .,” Jack couldn’t finish. He just held Pitch’s money, unsure of who to listen to.

“You’ve made his eyes darken. Put your wallet away,” Pitch whispered to Sera. He must’ve thought he was quiet enough for Jack not to hear, but Jack did in fact hear.

Even if he hadn’t heard, he could’ve figured out he’d said something similar judging by Sera’s reaction. She smirked as if she knew something they didn’t slipping her wallet away slowly as Jack moved to the register. “So Jack,” here it came, “how long did it take for my dad to start picking you apart with his magical deductive skills?”

“Come now, they are not deductive skills. I don’t even deduce anything, really—.”

“He began the moment we met,” he answered honestly. That silenced Pitch’s defense quickly.

Sera’s expression grew inquisitive as she waited for her pumpkin spice to cool off. “Hmm,” she began. Jack froze, recognizing that look. “You haven’t slept much lately, have you?”

Oh God, here we go, Jack thought. Another one. “You get a lot from him, I can tell.” He squinted, pointing. “Including the eyes. You both have some . . . interesting eyes.”

She beamed. “You could say we do.” She fell right back into that analyzing position, her hand even going to her chin. Pitch looked terrified about what she was about to say. It would’ve been comical if Jack had any inkling of what she was up to whatsoever. But he didn’t. He was clueless, Pitch was worried, and she was out of control. Then she said, “How many jobs do you work?”

“Three.” He didn’t see any harm in being honest.

“Jesus, don’t you have a life?”

“I do. I enjoy my jobs. You know what they say: love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

“And you love fixing beverages?”

Jack blushed, looking down. “I love the atmosphere and the consistency. I love the routine. You could say that this job stabilizes me while the other two provide me with some social interaction and stuff.”

She smiled. He liked her smiles. They were real. They reached her ears and made her cheeks dimple. They didn’t seem malicious, though she was certainly up to something. “And what else do you do?”

“Babysit Toothiana’s daughter Searra and help Sandy out at the Moon Clipper.”

“Cool! The Moon Clipper’s what keeps you up most nights, isn’t it?”

“That’s the one.”

“Well, I gotta hand it to you. You’re dedicated. And positive. Not much in the way of positivity most days, you know?”

Jack grinned, nodding. “Yeah, I get what you’re saying.”

She looked around then, checking out the space. Sipping her pumpkin spice, she asked, “What do you two usually do in here?” Neither answered. Jack stayed quiet simply to hear what Pitch had to say. Pitch said nothing. The silence became awkward quickly as Sera said, “The quiet can imply so much, you two.”

“We . . . talk,” Pitch answered. That face. He had that face on again, the one where he looked like he’d swallowed something unpleasant. 

“About what?” Sera asked. She turned to Pitch. “Come on, I know you like people watching.”

“That is . . . kind of what goes on,” Jack answered, scratching his head.

He hadn’t thought it possible, but Sera’s smile actually widened further. “I knew I’d like you.”



“That was just the slightest bit embarrassing.”

“Only because . . . you know what, you can say it.”

“Say what?”

“That I’m right. You are crushing, you are crushing so hard that you may as well be the Thing. Or the Hulk. Choose your Marvel hero. Or villain. Be the Juggernaut for Christ’s sake, just admit that you’re crushing on him.”

“You are absolutely ridiculous.” He smirked. “Besides, the Thing clobbers, the Hulk smashes, and the Juggernaut just yells his own name from what I remember.”

“When did you become a Marvel fan?”

“Please, Marvel is much older than you. You think I don’t know anything, don’t you?”

“I do know the feeling’s mutual.”

“What?” Pitch slowed his pace considerably. “What on earth makes you say that?”

“You’ve noticed him. You’ve spoken to him. You’ve acknowledged his existence and he’s loving it!”

“How did you figure that just from meeting him the one time?”

Sera gave her father a gimlet stare. “Really, Dad? How do you think?” Pitch looked away as they continued walking down the block side by side. He was supposed to be showing her around town, seeing as she didn’t remember most of it. Instead, they were talking about Jack. “Plus I glimpsed at what he was sketching.”

Pitch looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “He keeps that well hidden. How’d you manage that?”

“Did you honestly think I was looking at the menu _every_ time I squinted and leaned over the counter?”

He was almost afraid to ask. “What was he working on?”

Sera’s expression was devious, meaning he likely did not want to know and would later regret asking. “You’ll just have to sneak a peek yourself.”

“You’re teasing your father. You have no respect,” he said with a small smile.

“You’re funny!” she said, wrapping an arm around his waist as he placed his arm over her shoulders. “So when are you going to ask him out on a date?”

“Seraphina—.”

“Give me one reason why you shouldn’t.”

Pitch thought about it, and found that he was coming up with nothing. At least, nothing Seraphina would actually find to be reasonable excuses. He’d try them anyway. “Age difference,” he started off.

“Age is a number and nothing more.”

“I hope that’s not the reasoning you apply when you go on dates.”

“You think I go on dates?”

“Why not?” His gaze turned suspicious. “Do you?”

She gave him a teasing smile. Then she looked down, blushing. “Not really. Still, you need a better reason than that. Age only matters if the person in question is underage, and he’s not.”

“Don’t let me hear those words come out of your mouth again.”

“Does it stress you?”

“Slightly.” He fumbled for more reasons. Sighing, he realized that if he was struggling this much she’d already won the argument. Still, he persisted. “I’m too old for this . . . .”

“Again with the age! I’ve met people older than you who are more active than you are!”

“Active how?” Pitch’s eyes widened as he stared at her over the rims of his glasses.

Sera said nothing in response to that. Instead, she said, “I’ll leave you alone if you can actually give me a viable excuse.”

Then something occurred to him, something he was sure would throw her off her tirade. “My work. My work keeps me moving. I can’t afford to be rooted to one place for long.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, and he could practically hear the skepticism before she even spoke. “You’re pretty rooted now.”

“For now,” he concurred.

“Dad, just admit it. There is no real reason why you shouldn’t take a damn—.”

“Watch your language!”

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t take a chance.” Pitch listened to her instead of trying to squelch the subject as he’d done the day before. “So what if things don’t work out. So what if you two don’t hit it off.” She paused for a moment, glaring up at the sky in thought. “Well . . . if the two of you don’t hit it off any more than you already have, that is.” Shaking her head, she continued, “Anyway! At least you tried. Heck, you might even, God forbid, enjoy yourself for once.”

“You are not going to let this drop, are you? Didn’t they teach you about peer pressure in school?”

“I’m not your peer. I’m your daughter. I’m your family. As far as I can tell, I’m your only friend too.” She poked his nose. “Save for one barista in the small town of Burgess, who you paid enough attention to to realize his eyes change color based on how he’s feeling.”

He smiled at his daughter. Squeezing her shoulders tight, he declined to say anymore on the subject except, “I will consider your thoughts carefully.”

“If you don’t do something, I may just have to hit on him!”

“You will not!” Pitch uttered through gritted teeth.

“Now THAT should be proof enough that you like him too much to deny it’s not a crush.” She pulled away, raising her hands in the air and staring gleefully at him the way she did when she got one of her crazier ideas. “That would be, like, the song ‘Stacy’s Mom’—.”

“Did you just use ‘like’ in a sentence inappropriately?”

“—only, it’s ‘Sera’s Dad.’” She clapped her hands together. “That would be—.”

“Who have you been hanging out with? Who caused this change in your vocabulary?”

“—totally hilarious!”

When she started singing the song, Pitch covered his face with one hand. Soon enough, that hand was covering up his laughter over his daughter’s antics. “Now you’ve gone too far, young lady?” he managed to say past his palm.

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

He thought about it. “I could edit your paper—.”

“No!” she cried, her expression turning serious. That succeeded in pulling another quiet chuckle from him. “No!” she reiterated, pointing at him. “You make writing ten times harder than it should be!”

“Yes, but the papers I have edited for you received top marks.”

“I get top marks without your edits. You just . . . nitpick!”

“I have nitpicked since the day you were born, and it’s worked I’ll have you know.”

She didn’t argue. But he had succeeded in getting her to stop singing that song. He wouldn’t be able to listen to that song ever again thanks to Sera. He had a sneaking suspicion she didn’t regret that in the slightest.



The landlord stopped Jack in the hallway that night. After working all day in the coffee shop, Jack had been looking forward to just coming home and relaxing. It seemed the landlord intended to make that hard for him. “Rent,” the old man barked. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled forth a check. Handing it to the landlord, the old man read the number before saying, “This doesn’t even cover half.”

Jack sighed. “Yeah, I know, but I need the rest for bills—.”

“Do you pay your bills as late as you pay your rent?”

Jack worked his jaw, struggling to remain calm and not yell at the ornery old man. “No, I have to keep up with them or else the interest—.”

The landlord’s brow furrowed and he cut Jack off with a surly, “If you showed me the same respect as you show the collectors, maybe I wouldn’t have to threaten to throw you out.”

Jack’s spine stiffened and his eyes widened. “Sir, I’m working as hard as I can.”

“You’re out late every night, you’re barely here anyway, and when you are you’re not productive enough to keep your apartment straight—.”

That sent Jack over the edge. “I work three jobs—.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble bringing in your rent. Get it to me tomorrow or you’re out.”

Jack was livid now. “I can’t do that! Only one of my jobs pays me daily and I’m not working that one tomorrow!”

“Then you better figure something out.”  
The landlord started up the stairs. Jack should just call in a favor with Toothiana. He should just agree and figure something out. But he couldn’t have brought himself to do either if his life had depended on it. Instead, he grit his teeth and did just about the dumbest thing he could think of: attempt to plead with the stingy, old landlord. Leaping up the stairs and stepping in his path of travel, Jack said, “Let me be clear. I work three jobs, and one of them happens to be at a nightclub if you must know. That’s what keeps me up late. And even with that, I get up early and go to my first job. On the weekdays, I leave that job and go to my second. I’m usually at the nightclub every night and the coffee shop every morning, so if you don’t see me around I’m sorry. And if I’m sleeping most of the day away, well it’s probably because for once I have time to. I mean, what do you think I do every day?”

“What _don’t_ people your age do nowadays?” he spat.

That set Jack off. “Spend copious amounts of money, for one!” Jack shouted. “We don’t exactly have it! Have you checked the economy lately?”

The old man pursed his lips. “You’re out. I want you packed and moving by the end of the week.”

Jack froze. No. This couldn’t be happening. “Did you hear anything I just told you?”

He shoved the check at Jack’s chest, and all Jack could do was catch it. “I’m done hearing your excuses. The decision’s final. I want your key by this upcoming Saturday.”

The landlord pushed him aside then. For an old man, he could make Jack move without so much as flinching. Jack stared up at him, waiting for him to turn around and take back what he just said. But he didn’t. When Jack was left alone in the stairwell, he balled his fists and placed them against his head. His heart hammered. His chest heaved. He started panicking, unable to control the shaking of his limbs. He was being evicted. He was being evicted and there was no convincing the landlord to rescind the decision. He had nowhere to go. He had no one. What was he supposed to do?

Suddenly, his fury overrode his panic and all he wanted to do was scream and pull his hair out. Stomping out of the stairwell, he found his way outside and in the cool, autumn air. He was ready to run, though he didn’t know where. He’d never really needed to blow off steam like this before. Not since college, and his college had had a gym he could use for when he was this full of fury. Glaring down one side of the street, he saw nothing he could use to his advantage. Then he looked down the block where the Moon Clipper was located. “People my age, huh?” he growled.

He’d never been the patron. Always the server or the bouncer, or whatever job Sandy had for him that night. But never the patron. There was a first time for everything.



Sera finished typing up her paper. It was technically seven and a half pages instead of eight, but she figured she was close enough. What mattered was content, and she thought she’d covered the material fairly well. Standing up, she saved and closed the document before putting away her laptop. Walking into her dad’s kitchen, she found him at the island counter typing away on his own computer. “Idea?” she asked.

“You could call it that.” He sounded like he was on his tenth cup of tea. Staring at the cup beside the laptop, she didn’t doubt he was trying to get his juices flowing with his typical choice of caffeine.

Moving to the refrigerator, she started searching for a snack of sorts. Her eyes narrowed on the selection: eggs, an onion, orange juice, and . . . was that a muffin or a brick? Ignoring that unidentified fridge object, she picked up the carton of juice. “Ugh,” she grumbled. It had pulp, and it felt like there was only a swallow left anyway. Moving towards the eggs carton, she opened it. One egg. “Dad, how do you survive?”

“Um . . .,” he muttered as he continued typing without looking up. He clearly lost his train of thought and either elected not to respond or he wasn’t listening. Staring at his eyes, which were wide and wild, she actually saw the bags forming under them.

She said nothing, instead venturing to the cabinets. A box of spaghetti, pudding mix, and a can of lima beans greeted her. Now that was a hopeful discovery. When she discovered the tea cabinet, she decided to take a peek and find out what he’d been drinking. She found two boxes of Earl Grey, a box of Darjeeling, a box of Chamomile, and a box of white tea. The Earl Grey was unopened. Shaking each of the opened boxes, she quickly found out which one he’d been utilizing the most. “Dad, how many Darjeelings have you had?”

“Um . . . two,” he said. “Maybe . . . six.”

“Six!?” she cried. “Dad, no!” She went to take the cup from him, but his hand flew to it and kept it in place. “Dad, do you intend to stay up twenty-four hours?”

“I intend to get _something_ done before I go to bed.”

“You’re not going to bed if you finish that cup. Give it to me.” She always wanted to laugh when his gaze turned feral over his tea, but didn’t dare until he wasn’t looking. “Dad, give it to me. In fact, give me the keys to the Sedan and I’ll go pick up some groceries for us.”

“At night?”

She grinned innocently. “No crowds.”

“In my vehicle?”

“Unless you want me to walk.”

His gaze narrowed, his hand gripping the cup of Darjeeling like it was going to save him from this predicament. “You want me to go to sleep while you go out driving in my vehicle?”

“I’ve done this before, you know.”

Now his eyes flitted between Sera and his laptop. She could practically hear the debate in his mind. She knew she’d win, though. She always did. She started counting the seconds till he gave in. She didn’t even reach thirty seconds when he handed her the cup and saved whatever he was working on. Closing the computer, he reached into a bowl on the counter and fished out the keys and his wallet. “Take my card. You know the budget.”

“Indeed I do.”

“Don’t be out too long, lest I come searching for you,” he said as he stood up.

“I won’t be long. I’ll be quick as the mad March Hare.”

“Don’t compare yourself to a horny rabbit from a banned children’s story.”

She smiled, struggling not to laugh. This was the fun part of her dad drinking too much Darjeeling: the crazy things he said. “I’ll be quick,” she promised. Putting the cup of tea in the fridge, she grabbed the keys and his card and headed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leaving an evil laugh here, because my plans are coming to fruition.
> 
> MWAHAHAHAHAHA


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing drunk Jack.

Jack had had three . . . things. He wouldn’t necessarily call them drinks because drinks were supposed to taste good and they did not. He believed they were called shots. Although, his addled mind could no longer wrap around why they were referred to as shots. No one was getting shot. Unless that kick in the stomach from the liquor was supposed to count. In which case, yes, Jack was being shot. Jack had been three times. And he was about to get shot a fourth time.

His body swayed with the loud beat of the music. When he’d entered the Moon Clipper, he hadn’t even been able to comprehend moving to something so strange. But that was Sandy’s gift. Sandy may have tried many forms of art with Aster and the others and injured himself in some cases, but mixing beats was his gift. He could take a song that otherwise Jack would scoff at, speed it up, tweak it, add a few new grooves, sometimes mash it up with another song Jack didn’t like, and work magic. By the time Sandy was done mixing and started playing, he would have customers out on the floor dancing until the wee hours of the morning. Jack had never understood the magic until now.

Half lidded and three sheets to the wind, he had briefly forgotten why there was a hole in his stomach the size of Rhode Island. Jack had managed to take his mind off what had brought him here in the first place. Fun. He understood why this was fun now. He had no control. He didn’t need to have any control over himself. The whole point of getting on the floor, getting shot in the gut by alcohol, swaying and moving to the beat as music and bodies pulsed through and against him, moving as an organized cluster of a unit . . . this was a hell of a way to lose control.

So many bodies had touched him since he’d entered the Moon Clipper that when he felt arms encircle his waist, it took him longer to realize what was happening. Alcohol may have also impaired his ability to effectively use his senses, and he wasn’t entirely upset at that. The arms that circled him made the hole feel a little less gaping. It was still there, but not as awful as before. He pressed his back into the individual now sliding his hands sensually and teasingly over Jack’s torso. It felt good. In fact, it felt amazing to have someone touch him like this. Closing his eyes, he sighed as they danced and moved in time with the beat, in time with each other. The lackadaisical way they pressed into each other only made Jack feel better. Suddenly, he was very, very thirsty for something other than another shot in the stomach.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the guy shouted over the music into Jack’s ear.

It hit Jack then what he was doing, and he suddenly he had the feeling that he needed to run. He suddenly felt like he was in the wrong, like he shouldn’t even be there. But he said yes anyway, his body rejecting the sense the remaining bit of his brain that was still functioning had offered. Another drink. Just one more drink wouldn’t hurt him any more than the other four.



“How hard is it,” Sera grumbled, “to find a store open at this time of night?” Apparently it was incredibly hard. She had a feeling she’d circled the entire town by now. She didn’t want to call her dad. He should be sleeping, anyway. That is, if he’d managed to stop buzzing on caffeine. Dammit, Dad, Sera thought. This was supposed to be his time to rest and think, not spaz and write God knows what. Sometimes she feared the next novel he would put out. His mind tended to go to weird places. 

As did hers, she realized. She should be the one sleeping, not driving around and looking for an excuse to avoid sleep. Her nightmares had gotten worse. They were forcing her to wake up at odd hours and not go back to sleep until five AM. By then, she only had an hour before she had to get up anyway. She’d begun to avoid sleep. It was to the point that she’d had to change two roommates before meeting one just as sleep deprived as herself. Her new roommate had her own nightmares. It was therapeutic, really, being able to open up to someone and talk to them. She wished she could speak to her dad about them, but she didn’t want to stress him. He was pressuring himself too much already.

Driving round the block, her gaze landed on the Moon Clipper. She’d tried clubbing once or twice with her roommate just to waste away the night. This club seemed more alive than ever. It wasn’t until she saw a group of guys walking down the sidewalk carrying a member of their troupe that she thought to pull over and ask for directions to the nearest open store. Pulling the vehicle over parallel with the pavement, she hit the button to roll down the window on the passenger side. “Excuse me,” she said, raising her voice so they could hear her. “Hey, could you guys point me to a store? I haven’t found anything open, and I’m about to chew my own leg off.”

The three men stopped and looked at her, two holding up the fourth guy. One of the guys stood directly in front of the collapsing fourth, as if concealing him. She didn’t think anything of it at first as the guy in front started rattling off directions to a nearby grocery store. “If you take this next right up here and follow that road until . . . ,” she stopped hearing what he was saying when the two men behind him almost dropped the fourth guy. She caught sight of his face. Suddenly, she didn’t care about food.

“Jack!” she shouted, jamming her finger as she turned on the hazards and leapt out of her dad’s car. “Oh my God, is he okay?” What was he doing falling all over the place? She’d never seen anyone that drunk before.

The men, who were also stumbling the slightest bit but nowhere near as out of their wits as Jack, immediately formed a barrier between her and the now half-conscious, giggling young barista. The guy in front spoke again, “He’s had quite a few tonight. We were just about to drive him home.”

If they hadn’t stood directly in her path of travel, she would’ve driven away without question. Instead, she began analyzing every detail of the man’s statement. It wasn’t until he’d mentioned driving Jack home that she found anything remotely suspicious. “You know where he lives?” Folding her arms, she waited for an answer.

The guy smiled and nodded quickly. “Yeah, on the other side of town.”

Fucking liar, she thought. They didn’t have any clue where Jack lived. For once, she silently thanked her father for his overcautious, bordering on stalker ways. Had he not told her that Jack lived just down the street within walking distance from the Moon Clipper, she would’ve let these men take him anywhere. Standing straight, she found her resolve and said, “He’s a . . .,” well, what does one call their dad’s crush, “family friend. Frankly, I don’t know any of you and I think it would be best if I took him home.”

That didn’t sit well with the men holding Jack back. If her suspicions hadn’t been raised prior to this, they were definitely undeniable now. They did not mean Jack well. Her stomach turned at the thought of what they were planning to do to him. Her whole body stiffened as the guy in front addressed her, “He’s fine. We’re taking him home, and we’ll see that he gets taken care of.”

“Dude, we should just—,” one of the guys started to say.

“Shut up!” the other growled at him.

Sera’s proverbial hackles raised. Time to dig in her heels and pull out the big guns. Slipping her phone from her jeans pocket, she said, “Let me have Jack or I’ll call my dad. After him, I’ll call an ambulance, because you’ll need one when he gets done with you.”

They did not just start laughing at her. That was a poor decision on their part. “Aww, little girl’s gonna call her daddy,” the guy in front teased.

Little, huh? Sera thought to herself. Pocketing the phone, she quickly sized up the group of guys. None of them were heavy weights, that was for sure. One of them was smaller than her, the one who’d been silenced. As they started to walk away, she grabbed the one closest to her by the hair, twisted his head around, and forced him to face her. When she saw her opening, she jammed her knee into his groin. He gasped, cried, and collapsed on the ground. Reaching into her other pocket, she pulled out the pocketknife her dad had given her the day she’d left for college. Opening it, she turned to the other two men and said, “Drop him!”

They didn’t even hesitate. Letting Jack fall, they grabbed their crippled friend and moved down the block as fast as they could. Cowards. At least they had the gumption not to leave their sobbing leader behind. She watched them long enough to see which car they got into: a green Chevy with dents in the sides. She memorized the license plate just as she closed and pocketed the knife, silently thanking her dad for training her in self-defense. Turning to Jack, she circled an arm around his waist. He was coming to consciousness as she pulled him toward the Sedan. “Hi, Sera . . .,” he murmured.

“Did you just realize it was me?” she asked. He was probably drugged. She should’ve realized that he wasn’t just drunk from the start. “How many have you had?”

“Five shots.” Damn, he’d managed to remember. She was impressed.

Then she realized something. “Exactly how much do you weigh? You don’t look like you can withstand one much less five.” He didn’t answer. He just flashed that brilliant smile. No wonder her father liked him. His smile could make a dead man happy. Once she got him in the passenger’s seat and buckled him up, which had taken a great deal of time because he had the functionality of a limp noodle, she manually locked that door and made her way to the driver’s side. It wasn’t until she was behind the wheel that she recalled though she knew he lived on this street, she didn’t actually know where one Jackson Overland lived. “Shit,” she uttered. Looking at the dazed, glossy-eyed boy, she asked, “I don’t suppose you remember your address?”

“Nuh uh,” he sputtered. Then he raised a crooked finger at her, laughing like he’d just heard a funny joke. “I’m evicted! Don’t have a home!” His laughing got louder.

Was he serious? He was drunk, drugged, and laughing at his eviction? Damn. Maybe she should get drugged sometime. Considering her nightmares, she thought better of it. “You’ll probably be sorry in the morning.” He stuck out his tongue and gave her the raspberry. “Mature. How old are you again?” And where was she taking one drunk, drugged, and now homeless barista? Considering how out of his wits he was, there was only one place to take him: home. Leaving him alone with that much alcohol in his system was out of the question. Dad’s gonna kill me, Sera thought. Putting the car into drive, she made her way down the street. Jack would giggle every now and then, but he didn’t have a lot to say. Still, she thought it best to at least keep him talking. “So what made you decide to go clubbing in light of your recent eviction?”

“Landlord being a bag of dicks,” he murmured, his head rolling around in circles. It was almost comical.

“What, did he call you a rich brat or something?” she asked. “Make fun of your nightly parties or whatever?”

“I don’t party. I don’t drink. I don’t go to clubs,” his speech slurred as he responded defensively. He sounded genuinely upset, a striking contrast to the laughing mess he’d been a few seconds ago. He then gestured widely and said, “I mean I work at a club, but that’s not the same.” His lip quivered like he was ready to cry. “I work. A lot. He had no right to judge!”

“So your revenge was to get shitfaced. That makes a lot of sense,” she said. He was beginning to look pitiful, so she thought it best to address this subject again when he was sober. For now, she needed him not to be upset. She’d take a happy drunk over an upset drunk any day. “Did you have fun at the club?”

That rekindled that dazzling smile of his. He giggled again as he slurred out, “I danced. I didn’t think I could, but I did!” He flung a hand forward, pointing as if he were proving a point. “Do you like music?”

“In fact, I do.” This was an easy enough topic. He was talking and staying awake. That was good, she thought.

“Sandy’s music is awesome. You should listen to i—,” he stopped. He grabbed his mouth, eyes widening. He fumbled as he attempted unbuckling the seatbelt before ultimately grabbing at the door handle and pulling.

“Fuck! Hold on!” she said, quickly pulling over. Mashing the button unlocking all the doors, he managed to open the passenger side. Had he not been buckled in, he’d have fallen out of the Sedan and landed on the sidewalk. Hanging out of the Sedan, he vomited. His whole body shook, reacting violently to the alcohol he’d consumed as well as the drug those guys had probably given him. Flipping on the hazards again, Sera jumped out of the vehicle and made her way around to help him. When she saw the discolored liquid on the ground, she had to look away to keep herself from throwing up. “Damn, man,” she grumbled, reaching past Jack to open the glove compartment. Stepping back in the event he needed to release more bile again, she said, “There are napkins in there. Dad usually keeps a shitload of them in his car in the event of colds and runny noses.”

He did unleash another round of vomit before grabbing a handful of napkins and wiping his mouth. Fortunately, he hadn’t gotten any on the Sedan. Dad would not have been happy about that. When he was certain he was done for now, he accidentally dropped the napkins he’d used on the sidewalk. “Oh no,” he murmured, fumbling with the seatbelt again.

“Just leave ‘em.” She pushed him back into his seat so she could shut the door, looking up and down the empty street.

“But that’s littering. You could get in trouble for that,” he argued.

“And you could get in trouble for what you did tonight, so forget the napkins and let’s get your ass to my place.” With that, she shut the door. Once she was back in the driver’s side, she pulled back onto the road and continued driving. Her dad’s apartment was only a few blocks away.

It wasn’t until Jack pulled out a set of glasses from the glove compartment that she realized she’d left it open. “Whoah!” he cried, putting her dad’s emergency pair on. “How far into the future can he see with these?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him,” she told him.

The nervous chuckle that escaped Jack’s mouth almost made her want to pinch his cheek. He had to be cute. How was he so undeniably cute even after almost vomiting in her dad’s car? “Your dad is fine,” he stammered.

“Come again?” Did she hear that correctly?

“I mean, how do you look that good at that age? I haven’t even read his books, but damn now I want to. Wanna get inside that head of his, see what he’s thinking,” he uttered. Meanwhile, he was still wearing her dad’s glasses. Did he realize he was confessing to crushing on her dad while wearing his glasses and riding in his car? And she was taking him to the apartment?

This was too good.

“You’re adorable,” she muttered. Her smile returned, and she couldn’t help but feel exhilarated. Her dad’s crush had a mutual crush on him. Precious. Too precious. There was no way, absolutely no way, she was going to let these two not realize their feelings for each other.

She’d started this night off with one mission: eat and stay awake. Now, she had a new one. An almost sinister look crawled across her face as she pulled into the parking lot behind the apartment complex. She continued to smile even as she wrestled with the drunk, weak Jack to replace the glasses in the glove compartment. She even continued to smile while fighting to quiet him while helping him up the stairs to her dad’s apartment.

She even smiled as she remembered how shocked her dad was going to be after hearing of her nighttime adventure. This was one adventure he just had to know about.



When Pitch awoke and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for the day, the first thing he noticed was that the metal trashcan wasn’t in its proper place. He shrugged it off, guessing Seraphina had needed it while working on her paper. Making his way to the kitchen, he noticed that the cup of tea she’d taken from him was still there. Without heating it up, he went ahead and downed the rest. He was about to grab whatever food she had brought home last night when he realized she hadn’t. It wasn’t until he turned around and looked at what was lying on his couch that he stiffened, eyes wide with shock.

Jackson Overland was lying face down on his sofa, the trashcan by his head. In Pitch’s armchair sat Seraphina, smiling at him. “Good morning.” She said it as if everything were completely normal, as if nothing were at all strange about this situation.

Pitch almost dropped his mug, staring at her over the rims of his glasses. “Sera . . .,” he started. Jack shifted a little in his sleep, startling Pitch to his senses. “Seraphina Pitchiner, how did you manage to leave the complex for groceries and come back with a human being?” And not just any human being, but the one she was determined to see him date.

“Don’t ask silly questions, Dad. Clearly, I kidnapped him,” she said, her smile turning wry. He didn’t find that humorous in the slightest. “Okay, I saw him getting dragged away by a bunch of guys who were gonna take him for a long drive.”

He gripped the mug tighter, though he wasn’t quite sure if that was because his daughter had decided to face a group of thugs on her own or if it was because that same group of thugs had intended to hurt Jack. He didn’t question it. He just accepted that there was now a group of thugs who needed to know who to fear.

Shaking his head and setting the mug in the sink before he broke it, he took a deep breath to quell the sudden anger that sprouted within him. “Seraphina,” he began, “the next time you play vigilante, could you at least call me and let me know where to send the police?”

She was completely unaffected by the stern glare he pinned on her. “I tried that,” she said nonchalantly. “They laughed, so I hit one in the balls and the other two ran to the car.”

That’s my girl, he thought. But he’d praise her later. For now, he asked, “Did you get the license plate number?”

“Wrote it on one of your receipts in your pile of things on the counter,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said aloud that time. Then he found himself staring at the comatose boy. “Was he drugged?”

“I think so. We’ll talk more after you go do your thing,” she said. Then she pulled out her cell. “For now, I better call his manager at the coffee shop and let him know Jack’s not feeling well.” She also looked at the young man on the sofa. “He’s gonna be feeling that hangover for a month.”

“I’ll bring home some groceries after I get business done.” Gathering his things, Pitch got ready to leave. “Then maybe we can sort all of this out.”

She nodded. “I’ll try not to spill too many of your secrets with him.” He pinned her with a gimlet stare before leaving the two alone.

As he walked through the complex to his vehicle, he wondered. Why did he suddenly feel like he was about to get hit by a lightning bolt? Because that’s how Seraphina worked. On some level, that was also how Jack worked. The two of them were ever full of surprises. And Pitch had naively thought he’d only have to deal with one surprise-filled individual in his life.


	5. Chapter 5

After cleaning up the mess of Jack’s overnight stay, Sera looked up the coffee shop’s number and dialed it into her cell. It rang twice before a deep, accented voice answered, “Bunny’s Coffee Shop. How can I help you?”

She didn’t recall the name of the shop right then and there, so she couldn’t help but snicker. “Is it really called Bunny’s?”

“Family name, sweetheart,” he replied warmly.

“Well I guess you’re more likely to buy drinks from someone named Bunny than someone named . . . I don’t know—.”

“Edgar?” he offered.

She giggled. “Is that your name?”

“No,” he answered a little too quickly, but Sera could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s Aster. How can I help you today, ma’am?”

“This is Sera. Pitch’s daughter.”

“Oh!” She could practically hear him straighten up on the other end of the line. “Are you alright? What can I do for you?”

“I’m fine,” she said. It occurred to her then how little her father really did talk to anyone except her, considering that Aster was either surprised to hear from her or concerned that it may be an emergency. Why else would she call her dad’s acquaintances, whom he’d mentioned in passing once or twice? “And everyone’s alright. Except Jack.”

“Jack?” Aster’s voice held a note of worry. “What happened?”

“Last night at the Moon Clipper happened. I think a couple of guys drugged him up and were about to take him for a spin. He’s currently recovering on the couch. I don’t think he’ll be able to make it in today.”

The concern in Aster’s voice didn’t cease. “Did you see these guys? Did you get their tags, can we turn them in, what—?”

Her smile widened. “Relax. I got their tags, but I think it’s up to Jack to do something about it.”

Aster sighed. “Right. Right, is he hurt though? Aside from the drugs?”

“He’s gonna have a catastrophic hangover. He’s already been puking all night. I’ve got him, though. Been to college, know the routine when it comes to party etiquette slash maintenance.”

She could hear a slight smile return to him at that. “Well, tell him to give me a call when he’s feeling up to it. Don’t let him outta your sight and don’t let him convince you to bring him to work. I can handle the shop for today.” Aster scoffed. “Damn kid. What was he doing takin’ drinks from gumbies . . .,” he trailed off, his accent thickening as he mused.

“I don’t know what he was thinking. But I’ve got a feeling he’s fallen on some hard times,” she hinted, not wanting to be the one to break the news that Jack had been evicted. That was his business to share.

Aster sighed once more. “Thanks for calling me. I’ll see the kid tomorrow. Take care.”

“You too.” After hanging up, she felt her cheeks. Were they really that flushed? Must’ve been his accent. Accents tended to affect her strangely.

Turning back to the young man on the couch, she was relieved to see him stirring. She wasn’t at all surprised to hear the groaning as he rolled onto his back and clutched his head. His pain was eminent. Going to the refrigerator, she sighed as she opened the door and remembered its limited contents. What could she possibly give him to help him with his hangover? Jogging to the bathroom, she opened the mirror cabinet in search of aspirin. Thankfully her dad still kept it in stock. Granted, it was the only medication he kept in stock. Aside from penicillin that is. Jesus, Dad, she thought. He never was one for getting ill. Neither was she, really. They had incredible immune systems. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d had to stay home from school due to illness.

Pulling the aspirin from the medicine cabinet, she jogged back to the kitchen in search of something for him to take it with. Water was essential at this point, but Jack could use some flavor after his night of upping whatever it was he’d eaten or drank the day before. Opening the tea cabinet, she realized the risk involved in brewing some of her father’s tea. He was ridiculously obsessive over the stuff. But she thought this to be emergency enough to deplete his stash. Grabbing the box of Chamomile, she imagined Jack could use some rest and relaxation after his night out.

Once she put the now full kettle on, she popped the cap off the aspirin bottle, took two, and set them beside a glass of water she’d filled and placed on the counter. Looking at Jack, who was still groaning and holding his head, she took the aspirin back to the medicine cabinet.

“Where am I?” she heard him moan from the bathroom.

When she came back to the living room, he was sitting up on the couch with his hands pulling down the skin on his face. Somehow, that only emphasized the darkness of his irises. “Do you remember anything from last night?” When he saw her, he dropped his hands and his eyes further widened. She hadn’t thought that possible till now. A tremor of shock and terror ran across his features. It took her a solid minute to recognize the thoughts that were likely causing such a facial expression. Her own eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. “No! No no no, nothing like that! Nothing of the sort happened!”

“Oh God, thank you,” he said, clutching his chest and falling backwards onto the couch.

That actually made her smirk in amusement. “Jeez,” she played, “I didn’t realize I was that unattractive.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—,” he started defending himself, but as he sat up a wave of nausea hit him and he crumpled on the couch.

“Chill, dude,” she said, picking up the glass of water and two aspirin and taking it to him. Holding it out to him, she whispered, “That’d be kind of awkward considering the massive hard on you have for my dad.”

His eyes widened again as he choked out, “Excuse me?!”

She laughed at that. This guy is a kick, she thought. “Yeah, you told me all about how cute you thought he was last night.”

He stiffened as he stared at her. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “No, but if I were, you would’ve given yourself away with that defensiveness.” She gestured with the aspirin and the water. “Now take this before the kettle starts whistling.”

With shaky hands, he took the aspirin and the water. Putting the pills between his teeth, he chugged the glass gratefully. When he was done, she took the glass from him and told him to lie back down. Clutching his stomach, he asked, “What else did I tell you?”

“You’ve been evicted,” she said. She couldn’t avoid the subject forever. She may as well get that out in the open now. He visibly shrank at the thought, his face going dark and features becoming pinched as he started to recall that particular detail. She turned away, getting the kettle and trying to keep her eyes from fixing on the utter brokenness of his appearance. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he’d just been hit by two sledgehammers: one the hangover, two the eviction. God knows, he was holding himself like he’d been hammered in the guts. Pouring the tea into a cup, she heard his winded breathing. He was struggling, and this was definitely something she didn’t know entirely how to deal with. Taking the Chamomile tea to him, she set it on a coaster on the coffee table. “Do you not want to talk about it?”

She hoped he’d say he didn’t want to, because suddenly she wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Her and her father dealt with issues differently from most people: they tended to bury their traumas and run from them until someone, the problem or the individual, ran out of breath. Jack didn’t seem like the type to bury. He didn’t seem capable of burying. Everything he felt seemed to appear on his sleeve, either in that exact moment or sometime soon after the event that had evoked the emotion. 

So when he started talking, she thought it best just to listen and try to understand. “I have nowhere to go. I have no one to turn to.” Both of those feelings were not feelings she understood. Granted, she’d only ever had her father, but he’d been enough. He’d been everything to her. Jack’s breath hitched as he continued. “I tried. Really, I tried. I couldn’t keep up with all the bills.” She thought he was going to cry. She stiffened at the idea. Sera was not good at crying. As Jack sat up, he covered his face. His whole body shook from the physical and mental pain of his experience. But to her surprise, he didn’t cry. His eyes were red and wet from the effort of holding back the tears, but he did not cry. Clenching his fists, he leaned on his legs and refused to look at her. Closing his eyes, he let out a long, harsh gasp that didn’t entirely dispel his anxiety. How could it? He was so tense that if she shoved him he’d snap. And that might upset her father. “I don’t know what to do.” It wasn’t a cry for help, but a cry for mercy. She suddenly wondered how often he’d confronted merciless individuals in his life.

Shaking her head, she asked, “So you have no family? No friends?” The concept was hard for her to imagine. Such charismatic, conversational young man and no friends? From what little time she’d spent with him, he should have several.

Jack kept his eyes closed and shook his head. “The closest I had to a family died long ago. And friends. When I graduated college, I lost three things: my money, my dignity, and my friends.”

What a wonderful life she had to look forward to. Again, she refocused on him. She wasn’t entirely certain he didn’t have friends, no matter what he said. “Have you thought of a way to . . . have you thought of a place to stay until your back on your feet?”

He looked up at her then. To her surprise, a sarcastic smile played across his lips and he let out a masochistic chuckle. Wiping his face with one hand, he said, “The only thing I managed to think of was to get back at the landlord.” His chuckle turned dark and his lips curled into an insincere leer. This twist didn’t suit the young man. “He practically called me an irresponsible, good-for-nothing child who only knew how to party and waste time! So I went to the club!” He got up and started pacing, his hands gesturing as he continued. “I’ve never partied in my life. Nothing like that. I’ve never,” he started listing the things off on his fingers, getting louder as he went on, “partied, drank until I was wasted, smoked, danced with anyone, had sex, overall,” he stopped and turned to her, “I’ve never done anything to warrant me not remembering what happened the next morning!” He threw his hands in the air, “And I decided to try it all in one night as payback! That’s a helluva note! Get back at someone by doing the very thing they accused you of doing! What a novel idea?!” He let out a fake laugh just as another wave of nausea assaulted him and he fell back onto the couch, holding his face in his hands.

Throughout Jack’s tirade, she had tried very hard to listen. Sera had succeeded, but her mind was lingering on all the wrong things. One of which, she couldn’t help but ask, “You’re a virgin?” He gave her a look, and she realized they were both having the exact same thought: out of all of that, that’s what Sera had heard. Holding her hands up in apology, she changed the subject, “Okay, yeah. Novel idea. You must’ve succeeded at . . . at least three of those things in one go. You were about to lose your v-card as I pulled up and found you stumbling with a group of guys.” He squinted, and she realized that he must not have understood what she was saying. Plus, as he said earlier, he didn’t remember any of this. She explained, “I think some guys slipped you some roofies last night. I caught them trying to . . . basically kidnap you.”

She could see him going back over what he did remember. He had a very expressive face, Jack did. It was interesting. In body he seemed guarded, but his face was completely open. And he spoke like he knew people on a comfortable enough level to show such openness. Jackson Overland was indeed an interesting fellow. When his features fell, she knew he remembered at least something of last night. “Oh God,” he groaned. He started shaking again, holding his head and sliding slowly into a lying down position. “Oh God, I knew it,” he uttered. Looking back at her, he described the men she’d seen pulling him down the street in detail. When she confirmed those were the guys that had almost gotten him to leave with them, he squeezed his eyes shut and curled up. He repeated, “Oh God, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have—.”

“Jack—.”

“I knew they were trouble—.”

“Jackson—.”

“I knew better than to trust them—.”

“Jack!” she shouted, finally getting him to stop and pay attention. Exhaling loudly, she said, “You couldn’t have known. And even if you did get a bad feeling, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”

“But—.”

“No buts,” she interrupted again. “It wouldn’t have been your fault. Either way, you got out of it somehow and their license plate number is on that counter,” she gestured to the kitchen. “I’ll leave it up to you to go to the hospital, press charges, do whatever you think needs to be done. But you can’t blame yourself.”

Jack sighed and settled back into the couch. Stretching out, he gazed up at the ceiling and ran a hand over his face. His cheeks flushed and she saw his muscles were still tense. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I really shouldn’t have dumped that all on you. You didn’t need to hear all that, and I should quit complaining,” he uttered. He kept his eyes covered as he said that.

Raising both eyebrows, she declared, “You’ve just been evicted. You claim you have nowhere to go, no acquaintances to ask for help, and when are you supposed to collect your things and go?”

He hesitated before answering, “By the end of the week.”

“You were also drugged and almost got gang raped last night, if my observations were correct. Tell me again, what you shouldn’t be complaining about? If you weren’t complaining, do you really think I wouldn’t get my dad and his psychologist degreed ass back here to talk to you?” He glanced at her then, giving her a puzzled look. Before she realized what she was saying, she admitted, “Whether you realize it or not, you’re the closest thing my dad has had to a friend that I can remember. So I’m a little skeptical when you say you have no friends.” His face actually lit up. Through all the sadness, tenseness, and aching, he was lighting up at the idea that he was her father’s friend. She could almost see the young man she’d met only once a little while ago behind those red, wet eyes. She smiled, and added, “And you have a crush on him.”

His cheeks flushed again and he looked away. “Is it that obvious?”

She giggled. “Only to me. And maybe your employer.”

He smiled for a moment. Then his eyes widened and he sat up frantically. “Shit!” he said, looking around for his coat, which she had taken off of him and left hanging by the doorway. “I gotta get to work!” He was about to move to the door when he grabbed his stomach with one hand and his head with another and found himself falling, once again, on the couch he’d become so acquainted with. “Aster’s gonna kill me,” he breathed.

“Nah,” she said. “I called him and told him you were sick.”

“Oh, I bet that sounds incriminating,” he murmured.

“You seem so opposed to hanging out with me. My word, whatever did I do to deserve such treatment,” she said sarcastically. Picking up the now drinkable cup of hot tea, she offered it to him. “You need to fight that hangover first. Drink this. It’ll help you sleep.”

“What is it?” he asked, looking at the cup suspiciously.

She imagined he should stare at drinks offered to him by semi-strangers a little differently now. “A tea. Meant to make you relax. Hope you don’t take your tea with sugar or milk.”

He squinted, gingerly taking the cup from her. “I’ve never had tea.”

“Not even Lipton?” He shook his head. She widened her eyes, her mouth forming a perfect ‘o.’ “Don’t tell my dad that. Oh God, he’ll educate you.”

Jack smiled, letting out a small, half-hearted chuckle. “I might enjoy that, actually.” Going to sip the cup, he drew back for a moment. “This stuff is potent.”

“You have no idea.”

Sipping it at last, he drew back with a grumble. His face twisted. “What the hell?” He coughed once, wiping his mouth. “Tastes like potpourri.”

She laughed. “Want the full effect fast? You should chug it.”

He gave her a dead look, like he’d rather do anything else but chug the Chamomile. She didn’t mention that the action, which would indeed cause the tea to hit him harder and faster, would likely make him pass out in a matter of moments. Then again Chamomile affected each individual differently. Still, he listened to her and chugged the stuff like cough syrup. “Jesus Christ,” he blurted out once he was done. “Not my cup of tea.”

She laughed at the expression, then got up. “Rest some more. When you wake up, call your boss. He’s worried about you.”

She headed to her room, fetching her laptop to get some more work done and look up what other assignments she had due. When she came back, Jack’s eyes were already drooping. After five to ten minutes, he was out again. She grinned. Chamomile worked like a charm. Hopefully when he woke up, he’d either be more relaxed or at least less affected by his late-night escapade.



When Jack woke up, his head wasn’t killing him anymore. His gut, however, still ached. As did his throat. Sera wasn’t in the living room, and he could hear voices down the hall. One voice. She must be on the phone in her room. As he recalled the conversation he’d had with Sera, he couldn’t help but feel the hole in his stomach growing even wider. Okay, he thought to himself. One step at a time. You’ve got a week to figure this out. Take each day as it comes. Maybe he could convince the landlord . . . .

He stopped himself. A rogue thought appeared, and suddenly he wanted nothing to do with the old man. If anything, he would rather be out on the street than have to return to his grumbling and rudeness again. The thought of being homeless still made Jack sick, though. Homeless. He hadn’t been homeless since high school, and at least then he’d elected to being homeless. But he hadn’t faired well then and he just knew he wouldn’t fair well now.

Stop thinking. Call Aster. One step at a time, he thought. He moved slowly off the couch and to his coat by the doorway of the monochrome apartment. Pulling his cell out of the pocket, he was surprised it still had a charge. Flipping it open, he called Bunny’s Coffee Shop. When Aster answered, he said, “Hey, it’s Jack.”

“What were you thinking?” was the first sentence that popped out of Aster’s mouth. His boss continued in a harsh whisper, “You should never go clubbin’ alone, and you’re lucky as hell Seraphina got to you. You could’ve been dead in a ditch, and no one would’ve known what was up until it was too late—.”

“Okay, I got that,” Jack said. He was surprised at the amount of concern coming from the usually hardnosed man, but he was also already full of his own guilt. Aster’s worry seemed to only add to it rather than comfort him. Sighing, he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you earlier. I’ve kinda got a few things I need to figure out—.”

“What’s up?” Aster asked, cutting Jack off. “Sera mentioned you’ve hit a rough patch. What does that mean? What rough patch?”

Jack silently thanked Sera for not telling Aster what had really sent Jack to the club in the first place. “It’s nothing. I’ll figure it out.”

Aster sighed, but accepted Jack’s vague explanation. “While I doubt that, it’s your business. But if you’ve really fallen on hard times, don’t try anything stupid. And don’t think for one second that neither Tooth nor I will help you. That includes North and Sandy.”

The offer was genuine, and it made Jack’s chest hurt. Blinking back tears, he cleared his throat to conceal the growing hole inside him. He couldn’t ask them for this. He couldn’t ask any of them to take him in or help him find a new place. He’d just have to start out on his own. Maybe as last resort he’d ask. Maybe. He didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. “Thanks,” he croaked out, hoping it wasn’t too obvious that Aster’s offer had simultaneously upset him and warmed him. “I’ll catch you tomorrow. I’ll . . .,” he was about to say he’d find his way to work, but that would tip Aster off to the fact that he was currently without an apartment. Almost. He still had it for a week. He just didn’t want to go back to it now. He ended the conversation with, “I’ll see you then.”

“Alright, kiddo. Be careful,” Aster said. Hanging up, Jack couldn’t help but feel like he was going to collapse again. Holding his gut, he fought the anxiety within him. No matter what, he’d been through worse. He had to remind himself that he’d been through worse. But that usually semi-reassuring thought wasn’t helping him this time. Settling back on the couch, he wrapped his arms tighter around himself. What am I going to do? Jack asked himself. How am I going to get out of this one?

Why do I still feel like another shoe is about to drop?



When Pitch arrived back at his apartment, he found Jack and Sera in the living room. Jack was lying on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes, and Sera was sitting in the chair with her laptop. She looked up at him and asked, “Groceries?”

He had to refrain from smiling at the almost childlike hope in her voice. “In the car.” He held his keys out to her, and she practically tore them from his hands and ran down the stairs. He supposed he’d been gone long enough for her to develop an appetite. She was probably going to start cooking as soon as she carried all the bags upstairs. And she would carry them all. Somehow, it would impugn her honor not to carry them all up in one go.

Jack sat up, slouching as he stared at Pitch. The young man’s hands were folded and his appearance was altogether self-conscious. He could see that Jack was trying to fake a smile, but fake smiles hardly ever worked on Pitch. As soon as he noticed something false, he dismissed or refuted it. But Jack’s pain reflected more in his attempt to smile than his genuine frown and that caught Pitch’s attention. “Hi,” the young man said, rubbing his hands together nervously before clenching them into fists and resting them on his knees.

Pitch pulled off his coat and hung it next to Jack’s and Sera’s, then pulled his wallet and phone from his pockets and set them on the counter. He tried at humor when he said, “Fancy meeting you here.” As with all of his attempts at humor, his deadpan voice failed and he only came off as slightly bored. 

But Jack managed to chuckle. “Yeah. Fancy that,” he replied.

“How are you feeling?” he asked him as he walked over to the sink, where his tea kettle was sitting. Sera had used it. He’d question her on that later.

“I’ve had better days,” Jack said.

Pitch adjusted his glasses, filled the kettle with water, and put it on an eye. Turning on the stove, he asked, “Has Sera already interrogated you on your encounter last night?”

He caught Jack nodding out of the corner of his eye. “Seeing as I remember so little, I don’t think I have much reason to pursue the guys who drugged me.”

“I would disagree, but it’s your decision to make.” And Pitch could always do his own follow-up on the fellows who’d threatened Jack’s safety. Squinting at his own thoughts, he turned away to grab a cup. Only then did he realize that he’d only filled the kettle with enough water for one, as he naturally did on normal weekends. Staring at the other cups in the cupboard, he tried to remember his manners. “Would you like some tea?” he offered.

“No thanks,” Jack said, and Pitch was almost relieved. He was glad Sera was taking her time bringing the groceries up, because there was an infinite number of things she could’ve pointed out about his relief at Jack not wanting tea.

“Water then?” Pitch asked. Politeness still wouldn’t hurt.

Still, Jack shook his head. “Sera’s been good to me. Made sure I’m hydrated and all.”

“Good,” he said. Good, he thought to himself. “Did she exhaust you with conversation?”

Jack smiled. A real smile. “Nah. It was nice.”

It wasn’t until Sera appeared with multiple bags on each of her arms, that Pitch realized how awkward their conversation must seem to normal people. “Manna from Heaven!” she cried out, making Jack cover his face and laugh. “Stick around, Jackie boy! I’m making lunch!”

“Do I have a choice in the matter?” Jack asked playfully.

“No,” Sera said quickly as she sat the groceries on the counter. Pitch hastily stepped out of her way as she started distributing various food items to their respectful places. “You’re staying for lunch and dinner.”

“Really, you don’t have to if—,” Pitch tried to reassure Jack. After all, Sera had a tendency to capture and keep lost animals as well as human beings. At least, the capturing of human beings was new. Jack was her first victim.

“Oh, he wants to,” she interrupted him, giving him a wide-eyed stare. Though her voice was completely serious, her face insinuated that she was up to something. “He wants to,” she repeated.

Jack and Pitch looked at each other. Pitch managed a smirk, and Jack shrugged and grinned. “What Sera says goes, I gather?” Jack asked.

Jack had figured it out faster than anyone Pitch had ever seen Sera interact with for more than twenty-four hours. “You may survive her yet,” Pitch said. He found his smirk actually widening as Sera gave them both a sly grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An accurate description of what's really going on in this chapter:
> 
> Pitch: Would you like to stay for dinner?  
> Sera: Would you like to stay forever?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one does a little time jumping. It happens over the course of three days. Hope it's not too confusing.

Dinner with Pitch and Sera had been interesting, to say the least. Sera had spent the majority of her time coaxing Jack and her father into conversation. He wondered if she thought she was being subtle. Honestly, she was. She was incredibly good at getting them to do what she wanted them to without them realizing it. Jack had only realized it after they’d gone to bed. It hadn’t taken much convincing for him to stay one more night, just as it hadn’t been hard to share some of his experiences with Pitch at the coffee shop. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to the complex where all of his troubles had started, and it was more fun telling Sera about how impressive her dad’s observation skills were. 

“He’s always been able to give me the backstory on every parent at my elementary schools’ PTA meetings. It’s a miracle I had a social life, really,” she had said.

“That bad? I hardly believe that,” Jack had commented. Staring at Pitch, he’d added, “He’s just so proper all the time.”

“I wasn’t always tactful,” Pitch had admitted through tight lips as he stared at his daughter. “Unlike someone else we know, I developed a filter.”

“A faulty one, too. Is it as rusty as your social life?”

Jack had snickered at the two, Sera overwhelmed by her own jokes while Pitch struggled to remain the stoic, sometimes irritable writer Jack had come to know. They’d remained sitting and talking over empty, dirty plates for at least an hour.

Sera and Pitch had given him a ride to work that morning. At least Aster hadn’t seen them dropping him off. Though Aster knew where Jack had been staying, he still didn’t want to be asked about it. He was talked out and he really just needed to search for a place to stay before the week ran out. He thought about how quickly he could pack all of his things. He was pretty positive he had more sketchbooks than personal belongings, and that he could shove everything he owned into about five or six boxes if he needed to.

The lead in Jack’s pencil snapped as he crossed out the fifth ad for a residence in the newspaper. He bit his lip to keep from cursing, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see Aster giving him another uncharacteristic look of concern. For once, he thought it’d be easier if Aster just shouted orders and threats at him. Jack didn’t know if he could handle having his typically hardnosed boss staring at him like he was troubled.

To be fair, he was troubled. He was very troubled. In under seven days he’d be homeless and there didn’t seem to be a single apartment available to him at a decent price. He would take anything. He would literally live in a four-walled room with a cot and a pot if he could afford it but it was looking like he wasn’t even going to find that. He stared helplessly at his broken pencil, his mind a fog of worried thoughts. What about the bills? What about location? What about transportation? The apartment he owned (had owned) had been so conveniently placed near his workplaces that he hadn’t even considered what would happen if he moved. Through all the questions and concerns, somehow he managed to obsess over how the pencil had broken in a manner that had left no easy way for him to sharpen it. He couldn’t even use a pencil correctly.

Jack was on the verge of tears when a customer came in. It was the girl who he would usually see being pursued by that older man. She wanted her usual. Had he been ordained, he would’ve blessed her beverage before blessing her for interrupting the train of thought that was bound to crash violently.



“You’re looking at the ads for residences, aren’t you?”

“What time does your bus leave tomorrow?”

“Don’t answer my question with another question.”

“Yes. What time does your bus leave tomorrow?”

“Seven,” Sera said, smiling at her father’s answer. Leaning back in the chair and looking at the pizza stand on the table between them, she wanted to yank the newspaper from his hand. It wasn’t because she didn’t like him being quiet and pensive. She was used to that. It was more because the answer to the dilemma seemed so obvious to hear. She didn’t need to hear how unrealistic it was, but to be honest it really wasn’t. What was unrealistic about two friends sharing a space together? The unrealistic part, however, was convincing her father that he did, in fact, have a friend in Jackson Overland. As he flipped a page, she glanced quickly at the waiter busing the table beside them. Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, she said, “He likes you too, you know?”

It took every ounce of willpower she had not to return her gaze to her father’s face. She wanted desperately to see his reaction as the newspaper hit the table’s surface, but she needed to be cool. She prayed her face wasn’t flushed from giddiness, because she could practically feel her dad’s eyes boring into her as he undoubtedly stared over the rims of his glasses. “Seraphina Pitchiner?”

“Yes father?” she said, blinking innocently as she looked at him then.

Despite his best efforts to keep a straight face, she could see the hint of red in his cheeks. “Seraphina,” he began, placing his elbows on the table, his hands coming together to form a steeple that was aimed at her, “I can see what you’re attempting to do—.”

“Can you?” She kept her voice innocent.

“Indeed I can. I know you, and I know what you’re about to tell me. The answer is no.”

“What am I about to tell you?”

“Don’t even go there. You’ve played this little game since you were capable of expression.”

“Since you know me so well, what am I attempting dear father?”

He switched to pointing at her with one finger. “It all starts with that: the use of the word father in that manner that makes it sound like—.”

“Like what father?”

“Like you’ve already won the argument.” His face was red, now. Her dad had the glorious ability to keep his voice under complete control. He sounded like he was having just about any normal discussion, but looking at the pallor of his face one would think he was ready to burst.

Situations like these only succeeded in making her smile, which was another one of the tells she possessed he was definitely familiar with. It was her turn to lean her elbows on the table. Resting her chin on her fists and crossing her ankles, she said, “So what argument have I won this time?”

“You haven’t,” he replied sternly.

“I only needed to say the one thing and somehow you knew exactly how this was going to end up.” She quirked an eyebrow as she finished the sentence.

“The answer is still no.”

“An answer to a question I never asked, or to a statement that didn’t even need stating. You’re not convincing me, father.”

“And you’re not winning this round.”

“What is it that I may or may not have won, exactly?”

“No,” he flat out said, leaning back in his seat and removing his arms from the table. “No,” he repeated, as if that ended the discussion.

Sera smiled as she leaned back in the booth, letting him think that he’d succeeded in preventing a debate that she hadn’t even needed to start. Clearly he was already deliberating over the possible outcomes in his own head. As the waiter brought their meat lover’s pizza to them, Sera felt victorious. Why?

Her father never picked the newspaper back up, now, did he?



Jack paced back and forth along the lake. He couldn’t go back to the apartment complex. Not yet. He didn’t want to face the landlord. He didn’t want to hear him counting down until the day he would kick Jack out, and he didn’t want to start packing up his things. Packing meant he had a place to go, which he didn’t. Packing meant facing the truth, which he couldn’t. There had been nothing, absolutely nothing, in the morning paper. At the end of the week, he was going to be on the streets.

He could ask Aster for help. Jack shook his head. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t ask anyone for anything. He couldn’t ask Tooth, North, or Sandy for anything. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of the Moon Clipper given what had happened (what could have happened) on his last visit there. He had nothing but vague memories of the faces of his would-be kidnappers before blacking out completely. The thought only made him anxious as he refocused on thoughts of his bosses. He didn’t find much relief from anxiety while thinking of them. They’d given him so much already. Not only could he not afford to offend them by asking for yet more, he couldn’t afford to be beholden to them. He was in debt from his own pursuit of a life better than what he’d had. He couldn’t be in debt to the people who were already paying him so that he could get out of debt.

The hole in his gut made itself known then. A tightness in his chest made him clutch both regions as he crouched by the water. He tried to breathe, but couldn’t. It felt like his lungs were seizing. The questions and concerns and doubts circled endlessly in his mind. Where to go, what to do, how to do it, where to turn, where to go, what to do, how to do it, where to turn, it had no ending and no beginning in his clouded mind. He hadn’t had a panic attack in years. They’d come to a grinding halt since he’d gotten out of foster care, since he’d lost . . . .

His chest tightened further and suddenly experience didn’t matter. No matter how familiar this scenario was, it was still brand new every time it occurred. It still felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest, like he was having a heart attack, like he was going to suffocate until he died from oxygen loss. By the time the panic attack was at its peak, the thoughts had stopped completely and the cause didn’t matter. All he felt was the stress, the stress that would inevitably return as soon as the attack ended and he remembered what had set it off in the first place.

His phone vibrated. That forced him back to the surface of his own consciousness. It vibrated hard, pressed against his side. He realized then that he’d gone from crouching to curled onto the cold ground. He wasn’t surprised. He often forgot whether he was upright or lying down once the panic ensued.

Sitting up slowly, his whole body still shaking, he slipped his hand into his pocket and looked at the number of the caller. He didn’t recognize it, but answered anyway. His voice came out a hollow whisper as he croaked, “Hello?”

“Jack! How are you?”

“Sera?” he asked, surprised he recognized her voice so quickly. She sounded different over the phone, like her voice was higher.

“No, the police. You’re under arrest. Of course it’s Sera!”

Despite everything, he felt a smirk creep onto his lips. “How’d you get my number?”

“Aster, who might I say is hunk. How ever do you work with him without trying to sculpt that face with whipped cream?”

“I’m not entirely sure I understand what words just came out of your mouth, but I think I can manage,” he said, standing up. “Besides, I think someone beat me to the sculpting. Have you been to Easter Island?”

“I’m gonna need you to pick that up and put that back. He does not look like an Easter Island head, okay? He looks like a tattooed, ready-for-battle Toussaint Louverture!” 

“That . . . that’s not right.” Jack found himself chuckling at that. His chest was still tight and his head was spinning from the cool down, but Sera . . . talking to her was helping him. She was helping him calm down. How was that even possible? 

“Yeah, you’re right. Recant your statement, and I’ll recant mine.”

“Deal.”

“Cool.” She cleared her throat and continued with, “Anywho, I will be leaving for college once again tomorrow and I’d like to say goodbye to you in person. Do you have time to tag along with me and my dad to the bus station?”

Jack’s anxieties seemed to dissipate suddenly. She wanted to say goodbye to him. She liked him enough that she wanted to say goodbye to him in person before leaving Burgess. “Uhh,” he stammered, shocked at the notion. Scratching his scalp, he asked, “What time?”

“Bus leaves at seven, but I’m thinking of kidnapping you for a quick dinner in town around five. You up for it?”

Jack deflated somewhat. “I don’t think I can aff—.”

“Dinner’s on me.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “No, you really don’t have to—.”

“Come on, I’m offering you free food. How can you refuse? You went to college didn’t you? I’m practically offering you gold!”

She wasn’t lying. He remembered treasuring every meal he didn’t technically have to pay for. Of course, thoughts of college meals often brought with them memories of friends he no longer had. “I . . .,” he started, but became tongue-tied. “I . . .,” coming up with excuses really wasn’t working. One thought of spending another night talking to Sera and Pitch and suddenly his answer rolled effortlessly off his tongue. “Okay.”

“Great!” she cried excitedly. “Pick you up where?”

“Ugh, the coffee shop.”

“Awesome! See you tomorrow!” And just like that, she hung up. Closing the phone and looking around, he wondered how the hell she’d managed to call him at the exact moment he’d needed saving. If she hadn’t called, he’d still be curled on the ground afraid to face the landlord again. Granted, he was still terrified to face him. He just wasn’t shivering on the ground because of it anymore, and he had Sera to thank for that.

As he started walking away, he realized gratitude was its own kind of debt. The main difference was it didn’t have a named price. Shoving the thought aside, he instead thought of spending yet another evening with the Pitchiners. That, more than anything else, gave him enough courage to head back to the apartment. He might panic again later, but for now he had that to distract him.



As she ended the call, her father peered into the spare room of his apartment that served as her temporary living space. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she answered innocently.

He didn’t seem to believe her. His eyes narrowed as crossed his arms and stared at her over his glasses. “Seraphina—.”

“Jack’s coming to dinner with us tomorrow,” she said quickly.

They stared long and hard at each other, his cheeks slowly growing pinker as her smile slowly widened. When he spoke, he held a hand up to his neck, “I’ve had it up to here with your shenanigans.”

“What shenanigans?” Sera asked nonchalantly. She really commended herself on how well this was going. “Humor me, father.”

“Oh God—.”

“How many times did his eyes change color over the course of supper last night?”

Her father maintained level, unwavering eye contact with her for a full ten seconds before looking away and walking to the kitchen. However, she saw the grin he was trying to hide before he disappeared.

Just as she thought she was going to have to chase him for an answer, he called from the kitchen, “Eight.”



Jack had spent the rest of the day before sifting through his closet for boxes that he had always kept on hand just in case. After blowing the dust off of them, he proceeded to gather what he could. As he’d predicted, there wasn’t too much to gather. He had just about everything packed save for his toiletries, bed clothes, and winter clothes by the time he was done. He’d always been a fast packer, and it had come in handy more than once. He rejoiced in not having seen the landlord either that evening or the next morning. It occurred to him that perhaps the man was avoiding him. It didn’t seem likely, but maybe the landlord’s conscience had kicked in and he was having second thoughts. Jack doubted it, and shut out such foolish thoughts on his way to the coffee shop.

Aster was a little better about staring at Jack like he was going to break at any moment. Perhaps his boss had figured out that that only made Jack feel worse. Jack didn’t really begin to feel as if his luck wasn’t so bad until Pitch and Sera came in, however. For some reason, having them near was like a balm on his frayed nerves.

Pitch was quiet upon arrival, during the drive to the restaurant, and throughout the discussion with Sera. During their last dinner, Jack had learned much of Pitch’s success and what it had been like for Sera to explain to her friends that her father was a horror novelist. On this escapade, Jack wound up getting caught up in Sera’s college experience while simultaneously sharing his.

“What productions have you been in?” he asked as he buttered a roll.

“Not many, really. I’ve tried out for a couple, but I mostly like being backstage. Painting’s my thing. I like painting the sets. Ask me to build the set and I’m useless, though.”

“Painting is fun. Not sets. I couldn’t paint a set. I’d get too obsessive.”

“Yeah, you’re an artist, aren’t you? Saw your sketchbook, and he,” she point a fork at her father before stabbing her salad, “claims you can even turn coffee into artwork.”

Jack blushed, looking down at the bread in his hand. “I don’t know about that.”

“Don’t be modest. Ever acted?”

He shrugged. “A couple times. I liked it. But it’s hard to find an art I don’t enjoy.”

“Hear, hear,” she declared, setting down her utensils to hold up her cup of Sierra Mist. He laughed and clinked his cup of water against her cup.

Maybe he was comfortable with Sera because she’d proven trustworthy when he’d been in dire straits. Maybe he was comfortable with her because he was comfortable with Pitch. Even while Pitch was silent, Jack was comfortable with him there. Whether it was one thing or the other, Jack didn’t know. But the food was good and his anxiety was kept at bay while he was with them. Gratitude was a different kind of debt. A debt he didn’t have to worry about repaying.

Not yet at least.



Pitch sat across from his daughter and Jack at the restaurant. Over the course of four days, Sera had taken everything he’d come to believe about Burgess and turned it on its head. Not that Jack hadn’t been doing that for Pitch since his arrival already.

For instance, he hadn’t considered having anything more than a friendship with anyone here. Prior to Jack, he hadn’t even considered friendships. He’d simply wanted to do his time at the college (he made it sound like prison, but in his mind it was), and return to his life. Alone with his thoughts and characters. He’d liked it that way. He’d preferred it that way. But then Jack had come back at him with sarcasm unmatched, and Sera was pushing him towards him like they were two fictional characters in some story she’d become obsessed with. 

It suddenly dawned on him that Sera had stopped outright saying what she wanted. She was using those persuasion skills she’d picked up all those years on the debate team. Or she was simply doing what Iago had done to Othello, using only implications and letting Pitch believe this was all his idea from the start.

As Sera and Jack laughed, Pitch recounted the reasons why he shouldn’t do what Sera wanted him to. It was ridiculous. It was too fast. It was unconventional. It was creepy. It was invasive. These reasons were more than enough to refrain from doing as Sera wanted.

But she never did say what she wanted, did she. He’d only assumed. He’d been the first to . . . .

No. No, Iago wasn’t going to best of Othello this time.

Pitch stopped himself and had to hide his smile. Here he was thinking that Sera saw the two men at the table as fictional characters for her to toy with, yet he was the one having an imaginary row with classic Shakespearean archetypes. He started chuckling. Yes, this was ridiculous. Yes, his and his daughter’s methods were unconventional, perhaps too fast, and perhaps slightly disturbing. But Jack fit in with them. He fit in almost perfectly. Just look at the way he laughed at Sera’s off the wall humor and conspired with Pitch in the coffee shop. 

“Look, it’s alive!” Sera joked, referring to Pitch’s sudden spurt of laughter.

“Well I’ll be damned. How does it feel to join the living, there?” Jack joined in.

Pitch really had spent most of the time in the restaurant thinking to himself, so he shouldn’t have found their comments quite so funny. But he did. He suddenly saw the beauty in their choice of words. While he had no idea what they’d been discussing prior to acknowledging his mirth, he could overlook his lack of involvement to answer such a perfect question. “It feels . . . astounding.”

He could see that the meaning behind his answer wasn’t lost on Sera, who winked at him conspiratorially. No response was needed. She’d won without even having to pose a verbal argument. Sipping his drink, he looked at Jack’s now blue gaze which often held a note of mischief. Four, Pitch thought. This was the fourth time he’d seen Jack’s eyes change color since picking him up from the coffee shop that evening.



Jack and Pitch watched as Sera departed on the seven o’clock bus. Somehow, Jack could hear Pitch’s brain working as he analyzed the bus that carried his daughter back to college. He could also sense something else, but he wasn’t sure what it was.

“Back to the day-to-day, I guess,” Jack said, sad to see Sera go.

“Indeed,” Pitch added. Turning and walking back to Pitch’s sedan, he asked Jack, “Have you started packing yet?”

A pit formed in Jack’s stomach. “Yeah, for the most part. Though I haven’t been able to find a place yet.”

“Nothing affordable out there?”

For some reason, it sounded like Pitch already knew the answer to his own question. Brushing aside the idea, Jack answered, “Unfortunately. Nothing close to Bunny’s or the Moon Clipper either. I can’t even find a place near Baby Tooth’s school.”

“Hmm,” Pitch hummed as they ambled through the parking lot. Jack suddenly got the distinct feeling that Pitch was working up the courage to do . . . something. When they reached the car, Jack didn’t see the stiffness in Pitch’s shoulders loosen until Jack was standing on the passenger’s side and Pitch was standing on the driver’s side. When Pitch spoke again, the words flowed smoothly but his breath was rushed. “Well, our first stop will be your place. The next mine.”

Jack squinted at Pitch over the roof of the sedan. “Yeah . . .,” Jack said slowly, prompting Pitch. Judging by Pitch’s tightlipped expression, he was missing something.

“I don’t mean to be forward or crass, if this offends you I understand . . . ,” Pitch continued rambling, saying similar things over and over before Jack realized he was simply stalling and looking for a way around asking what he was really trying to ask.

Jack had only seen Pitch this flustered when North had given him one of his surprise bear hugs. Even while flustered his voice remained study, creating a juxtaposition that made Jack’s anxiety look over-the-top. “Okay, okay,” he interjected into Pitch’s rambling as he rested his arms on the top of the car. “What are you asking me?”

“I mean to say,” Pitch started, huffing out a breath before continuing, “we should simply stopbyyourplaceandgetyourthings.”

Jack stared at him, his eyes wide as he tried to translate the fastest sentence Pitch Black had ever spoken to him. It didn’t occur to Jack that he was holding his breath until a gush of it escaped through his open mouth (another thing he didn’t realize: his jaw had gone slack). When he remembered how to inhale and exhale normally again, he said, “You’re asking me to move in with you?”

“Well,” Pitch looked up, placing his clasped hands on the roof of his car as he thought. He let out a breath of his own, looked squarely at Jack, and said, “I am. We can work out the details once you’ve settled in. If you see this as a viable option, that is.” Jack was at a loss on how to respond to this. The pit that had formed in his stomach was gone now, but in its place was a knot of nervousness. As his pause persisted, Pitch returned to rambling, “Again, I’d understand if this seems unfavorable to you. Seeing as your options seem slim, I supposed I should offer. You seemed to be—.”

“Okay,” Jack felt the word leave his mouth before he could pull it back in.

Pitch stared at him, and Jack could just make out the look of surprise that appeared so foreign on the writer’s face. Jack almost expected some comic reaction from the man, but it didn’t happen. Pitch simply cleared his throat and asked, “Okay?”

The knot in Jack’s stomach tightened as he realized the number of things this could mean and the number of ways this could go wrong. Still the answer rolled off his tongue as if it were completely out of his control. Not much had been in his control recently, so was it really so hard to accept an offer given by someone just as unsure as him?

It occurred to Jack that if anyone else he knew, anyone at all, had offered this solution to him he’d reject it in a heartbeat. Yet here he was, leaning on Pitch’s car and giving him a small, one-word answer without so much as a ‘let me think about it’ or ‘give me a moment’ to show for all the hesitation he should be experiencing. Jack was more okay living with someone he’d only come to know in a short period of time than with those he’d known for a couple of years, now. 

Jack would kick himself later. For now, he let his gut do the talking.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for taking so long. Writer's block. It decided to give me reprieve at midnight of all times. I am very tired, but I did it. I did the thing.


	7. Chapter 7

“Run that by me again. You’re living with _who_?” Aster nearly shouted.

“It’s no big deal. You don’t have to worry—.”

“You barely know the guy!”

“So? People used to do it all the time. You put ads in the paper looking for a roommate to share an apartment with, you interview them, then you—.”

“Have you seen _Single White Female_?”

“I’m not a single white female, though.”

“That’s irrelevant. The point is you don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like, or what his intentions might be. You just don’t—.”

“I got it, but what choice do I have at this point?”

Aster closed his mouth. After a long pause, he pointed at Jack and said, “You could’ve asked me.”

Jack squinted and gaped. This really wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting from his boss. That fueled his next defense. “I’m already working for you. Don’t you think it’d be sort of . . . unorthodox for me to pay you rent immediately after receiving a paycheck?”

“Look, kiddo,” Aster said, trying to lower his voice, “you could’ve asked me. You could’ve gone to Tooth, North, any of our group and we would’ve helped ya.” There was something in the way Aster explicitly said _our_ that made Jack feel like he wasn’t really a part of the group his manager was describing. “But Pitch Black—?”

“He offered. I accepted. It’s done.” 

“But kid—.”

“Look, you claimed to be friends with him at some point. Could you at least . . . try to have a little faith in him?” Jack received only a glare as an answer, so he refused to discuss it any further. It had been a long week, and he wanted nothing more than to find a way back to his regular routine. Having Aster hover over and interrogate him wasn’t exactly part of that routine.

Moving in had been easy. In fact, all of this had started to seem too easy. Jack felt like he should be suspicious of all that was happening, but found that he wasn’t. With that in mind, Pitch and Jack had simply swung by the young man’s old apartment, loaded his boxes into the car, and headed back to Pitch’s place. Even as he’d unpacked and taken over what had been Sera’s room, Pitch had disallowed him from discussing the subject of rent. Well, he’d postponed it until Jack got off work that night. Jack wasn’t entirely certain he was up for a night at the Moon Clipper again. At least he wouldn’t be the one getting drunk this time. Still, he feared he might run into the goons Sera had rescued him from again.

When Jack had told Pitch of his hours that night, he’d been surprised that Pitch had agreed to pick him up. As a matter of fact, Pitch hadn’t even blinked at how late it would be. Jack guessed he and Sera were a pair of night owls. It explained why she was up late enough to catch him before he disappeared.

But for all the questions and confusion, the rest of the day went fairly normal. Jack didn’t have the ache inside of him any longer. There was no hole threatening to consume him from the inside out. So long as he didn’t think about who he might run into that night, he was actually excited about working at the Moon Clipper again. The exhilaration of the job might do him some good. That is, provided he still had a job after his weekend exploit.

Jack shook his head and focused on what he was doing. Another series of worries wasn’t going to help him in the slightest. If Sandy hadn’t wanted him to come in again, he would’ve called or had someone call for him. Jack had no real cause to fret. Unless he saw those men again. In which case, he had no idea what he should do. He hoped Sera scared them enough that they forgot what Jack looked like, or at the very least never wanted to return to the Moon Clipper. The idea of pressing charges didn’t seem feasible to Jack. No one had gotten hurt. Well, Sera hurt them, but according to her they deserved it. Though the thought of running into them again made him so uncomfortable that he felt like he might get sick, that wasn’t a good enough reason to report what had happened. Sera was really the only witness. He had been too drunk and drugged. Although, the fact that he was drugged might make a good case.

However, Jack wasn’t willing to go through with the action. What happened that night was completely erased from his memory and he honestly wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to forget the events that led to it and the things he did. Dredging up accusations would make forgetting it ever happened impossible. He shuddered. Had this been happening to one of his friends, he wouldn’t quit harassing them until they did something about the men. But this was him. He was lucky not to be homeless at this point.



Pitch waited outside of the club, eyeing everyone who stepped out. With his hazards on, he counted the minutes. Jack was exactly two minutes late getting off work, and he wondered whether it was because the club’s owner needed help performing some menial task or if someone had . . . done something to Jack. The thought made an irrational amount of anger and fear well up within him.

Music thumped so loudly that it escaped the walls of the edifice and reached even him. The tune was catchy. Honestly, Pitch wouldn’t be caught dead dancing to something like that but he could understand the appeal. To keep himself sane, he analyzed the people stepping out of the club. It slowed his waves of fear and panic, quelling his anger. 

There was a group of teenagers, some of whom likely sporting fake I.D.s. Their parents were either out of town or convinced that they were all staying at so-and-so’s house while so-and-so’s parents left the house in so-and-so’s care.

There was a couple, the woman scantily clad and the man showing signs of aggression towards anyone who looked in her direction. How attractive, Pitch thought. She likely took great pride in his jealousy of her, but it honestly seemed unhealthy to him.

A pair of inebriated males stumbled out next. Pitch sincerely hoped they didn’t intend to drive back to their residences seeing as they could hardly walk let alone see straight. He admittedly breathed a sigh of relief when a third male, the designated driver, ran out to join them. He held out the keys and slip of paper, claiming to have gotten a girl’s phone number.

Another couple emerged, a pair of women with linked arms and matching smiles. They leaned in for an intimate kiss before merrily skipping down the sidewalk. The sight actually brought a smile to Pitch’s stern lips.

After staring down a few more groups of individuals, he finally caught sight of Jack. Pitch sighed a lot louder than he’d expected, more relieved than he was willing to admit. As soon as the young man recognized the vehicle, he jogged over and got in. “Sorry I’m late. Accident near the bar.”

“It didn’t involve a pair of drunk men and one lonely designated driver proudly waving a phone number, did it?”

Pitch could just barely see Jack squinting suspiciously at him as the young man fastened his seatbelt. “How’d you figure that?”

“A simple guess.”

“You Sherlock’d again.” Pitch grinned at Jack’s conclusion as he pulled out of his parking spot and drove them back to his apartment. Their apartment. It was theirs now. That was still hard to believe, but it was a pleasant thought to Pitch. He wasn’t exactly sure why yet. Jack interrupted his thoughts with, “You won’t mind if I raid the kitchen, will you? I didn’t eat much today.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s technically your kitchen now, too.” Their kitchen alone was a great deal finer than that puny room Jack had previously called home.

“About that,” Jack began. “Shouldn’t we go over . . . I don’t know, boundaries? It’s been a while since I’ve roomed or boarded with anyone.”

Pitch nodded. “That’s probably a good thing to go over. Shall we get the worst out of the way and go over potentially annoying habits?”

Jack actually snickered at that. “Good plan. Worst first.” He thought for a moment. “It’s nearly impossible to talk to me while I’m doing my art thing, and I get very possessive of my work.”

“I guessed that,” Pitch said, recalling how Jack had pointedly carried all of his sketchbooks and supplies himself rather than allowing Pitch handle the boxes. Funny how the young man was more comfortable letting Pitch carry his undergarments than his carefully preserved artwork. “I, too, am possessive of my work. I take offense to people reading over my shoulder.”

“And to people foraging through your tea.” Pitch narrowed his eyes at Jack briefly, who held his hands up innocently. “Sera told me.”

Pitch’s grin returned. Of course she did. “It’s true. I’m horrible when it comes to sharing my tea.”

“You must’ve been an only child.”

“Yes, actually.” Pitch thought about other annoying habits he might possess. “I used to have a normal sleep schedule, but that disappeared as soon as I joined the military.”

“What branch, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Navy. My sleep schedule got worse when I was discharged.”

“You spent more nights wandering halls keeping an eye out for Sera, right?” Jack must have caught sight of Pitch’s surprised expression. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“As she got older, she started putting me to bed. The roles flip-flopped.” 

Jack chuckled again. “Well, my sleep schedule isn’t exactly normal either thanks to the club.”

“As far as problems go, we haven’t hit any really terrible ones yet,” Pitch declared.

“Well, I haven’t told you the worst: I take long showers. Hideously long showers.”

Pitch’s eyebrows raised, and he couldn’t figure out if it was because of the information or the thought of Jack in a shower. He wanted to shake his head to rid himself of the image, but elected not to. He didn’t want to come off as . . . creepy. That was a good word. People had often described him as creepy. Immediately banishing the thoughts, he offered, “That does seem like a problem.”

“You take long showers, too?”

Jack’s voice was so flat, and yet Pitch suddenly felt like he was divulging personal information. “Yes. In the mornings.”

“Then we might be okay. I only shower at night. Hot water makes me crash.”

Oh wonderful; the thought of Jack in a hot shower. That’s not the thought Pitch needed at the moment. “Uh . . .,” he murmured. “I . . . forget to restock the cabinets and fridge, so that might become an issue.”

Jack shook his head as he said, “Nah. That’s not too much of a problem. I’m hardly home, and if I need anything, I can get it.” His voice dropped, as though hit with a wave of sadness. “Once I get the funds.”

“Speaking of funds,” Pitch began, “I was thinking that we simply split the cost of rent. We can start splitting next month, give you enough time to get on your feet.”

He could feel Jack’s questioning gaze boring into him. “Why are you being so nice to me?” The inquiry came out like he’d been pondering it all along, but hadn’t been ready to ask. Jack also seemed to recoil at his own question, as if the idea of actually knowing the answer frightened him.

Pulling into the parking lot of the apartment complex, Pitch struggled to find words. What to do, what to say, it all escaped him in one fleeting second. Why was he being so nice? What did he expect? Surely he couldn’t say the first thing that came to his mind. That tended to be dangerous.

But Jack had always taken those first thoughts better than other people ever had. Jack simply wasn’t other people.

The words spilled out of his mouth so quickly, even he couldn’t decipher them, “Becauseyou’recurrentlymyclosestfriend.”

“Uh . . . can you repeat that?” Jack said with a quiet laugh. 

The audible smile of the young man was almost comforting. It allowed Pitch to slow down his sentence as he parked and turned off the car. Slipping the key out of the ignition, he said, “You’re the closest to a friend I’ve had since . . . well, for a very long time. I don’t want to see you . . . suffer.”

They were silent for the rest of the evening. Somehow Pitch got the feeling that Jack was satisfied with that answer. 



Growing accustomed to living with Pitch Black had gone better than expected, and eventually Jack stopped feeling afraid of going to work at the Moon Clipper. Aster stopped questioning Jack’s judgment, and by the beginning of December the routine almost became normal again. The only difference was that Pitch sometimes gave him rides to work. Eventually, Jack figured out a few shortcuts through the alleys of Burgess that could get him to work quicker should he feel the need to walk. He didn’t find Pitch to be quite as unreasonable as the author thought himself to be, and Pitch didn’t find Jack’s habits as annoying as Jack had anticipated. That seemed odd, especially since he specifically remembered being considered a high maintenance roommate in college. Maybe the two were both equally high maintenance and therefore canceled each other out. It made plenty of sense to him.

They did argue over small things. One time one of them (they hadn’t decided which one) had forgotten to do the dishes. Pitch’s need for cleanliness hadn’t exactly come out as a potentially annoying habit until then. The hilarious part to Jack, however, was the fact that their method of arguing was simply glaring at one another until someone made a move. Then the discussion became a little more sensible. During the glaring, it was like they were both determining what the other would do.

Jack was good with those kinds of arguments. They didn’t bother him. They probably should. Arguing and confrontation usually made him shaky. He used to shut down, clam up, and refuse to engage out of fear of screwing things up, but lately he’d found a bit of confidence to stand his ground. He’d even grown bolder about arguing with Aster, who had gone back to teasing him about sketching during work. In a way, it made things seem better between him and his boss. Jack wasn’t entirely sure where the confidence boost had come from.

Maybe it had come from Pitch calling him the closest thing he had to a friend. The thought made Jack irrationally cheerful every time he remembered it.



How was it possible for Jack to look more appealing with ruffled hair wearing nothing but raggedy pajamas? Pitch was dying to know how Jack managed to make his tongue trip and his eyes widen just by being a normal human being.

Pitch hadn’t had to wrestle with such feelings before. They were odd. They were painful. They were pressuring him into asking . . . what on earth would he actually ask Jack? How did this even work anymore?

Before, their relationship had been simple. They were acquaintances. They were companions. They mutually watched and analyzed people at a coffee shop. Then his daughter had managed to push the two together in her own special way. He really shouldn’t have let Sera do that. And yet at the same time, she’d done nothing but be decent and inviting, two things Pitch most certainly was not. Plus, she hadn’t had to tell him to do anything really. He’d wanted Jack to move in. He’d wanted to get closer to Jack. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to make this work without seeming overbearing or tightfisted or worse. He already wanted to crush the individuals who’d threatened Jack. He was already a little too protective of the young man. Pitch couldn’t imagine being worse. And now he was having . . . thoughts. He didn’t know what adjective to apply to those thoughts. Dirty? Too juvenile. Impure? Too archaic. Lustful? Too intense. What did he call such thoughts? How did he describe the feeling he got when his eyes slid over Jack’s body without him realizing he was doing it?

Don’t be creepy, Pitch found himself mentally saying on a regular basis now. Before that maybe happened twice a week seeing as he tended to avoid interaction as much as possible. Before Jack, he hadn’t cared really. He’d just scoff whenever he accidentally said something aloud that he probably should’ve kept to himself. Now, he . . . cared. He cared about driving people away. He cared about driving Jack away. It would hurt. He’d feel like he failed at the one chance to have someone other than Sera to speak to. Sera had been enough for a long time. All her life, as a matter of fact. But now that she was grown and he was alone (which he’d come to be satisfied with for a time), he suddenly missed the interaction she’d ensured he would have with others.

Jack had changed him so much. He still couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that was different. The young man was hardly home during the daytime. Pitch found himself staying up even later than usual just to speak to him. He found he didn’t drink tea as often when he was around Jack. Pitch felt an energy around the young man that he usually didn’t possess unless he was on a writing spree.

Pitch’s train of thought jerked to a halt as he looked at the time. “Fuck!” he cursed, realizing he was supposed to have left ten minutes ago to go pick up Jack from the Moon Clipper. He blushed at his own choice of curse, uttering another as those thoughts came back to the forefront of his mind. Grabbing his coat and keys, he ran downstairs and hoped he wasn’t too late. He hadn’t received a single speeding ticket in his lifetime and he didn’t want to start tonight.



Okay, so it was a lot colder that night than Jack had anticipated. Pulling his scarf up around his nose and buttoning up his jacket, he waited outside of the club as it officially closed down. Sandy had been kind enough to offer him a ride, but he’d shaken his head and explained he had a ride. Honestly, he wouldn’t have noticed Pitch being late had he not been picking up on the writer’s habits of keeping exact time. Five minutes. He hoped Pitch hadn’t broken down. He would’ve called him in the event of a breakdown, right?

Oh, now he was worrying the way Pitch did. Wonderful. Meanwhile, he was freezing his balls off. He was about to pull the scarf up over his ears when someone grabbed his hips from behind. Jack gasped, the scarf slipping from his grasp as a scream got lodged in his throat alongside his now rapidly beating heart. His stomach dropped and he started shivering even more. He was about to turn around and deck the guy when a familiar voice uttered, “I’d recognize that ass anywhere.”

Jack stiffened, his eyes round as saucers as the person pressed himself against Jack’s back. He wanted to shake him off. He wanted to run. He wanted to do a number of things, but he couldn’t even bring himself to shout. He was rigid and he couldn’t for the life of him make himself move. The man, who he’d immediately recognized as the one who’d drugged him whether by the way he gripped Jack’s hips or the depth of his voice, slid Jack’s scarf aside. A chill not entirely related to the cold air made him shudder, but the man didn’t back off. Couldn’t he see Jack was uncomfortable? 

Jack whimpered as hot breath caressed his now exposed neck. At that, he was able to croak out an almost inaudible, “Stop.”

“Aww, but you liked it the last time,” the man whispered. His voice sounded venomous, his breath felt toxic, and Jack still couldn’t make himself move to escape. “Come on, don’t you wanna go for a ride?”

“No,” Jack gasped out, feeling his voice elevate just the slightest. He started to pull away, but the man gripped his hips harder. Jack let out a surprised squeak at the pain of the man’s grasp.

“Oh, don’t be like that? The other guys, they sure miss you too. In fact, they’re waiting in the car right now.”

Jack was on the verge of screaming when the fierce grip on his hips suddenly released and a long arm draped across his shoulders and held him against a much larger body. “They’ll just have to keep waiting,” came a voice from said body that definitely registered as more aggressive than Jack was used to hearing.

Funny how he had never realized just how large Pitch was until Jack was tucked under his arm.

Still shivering, Jack now managed to get a clear look at the man’s face. He wasn’t unattractive, and he certainly didn’t look like the sort to assault someone. Then again, none of them ever did. One thing was certain, and that was that he was dumb enough to argue back with someone twice his age, size, and experience. “Who are you, his father? He must be the milkman’s kid, then.”

“You have threatened my friend, and if you’re who I think you are, you’ve also threatened my daughter. I do not take kindly to such offenses,” Pitch growled. Jack had never heard or seen him this angry and couldn’t imagine having such rage directed at him.

The man backtracked a bit. He had a brain, at least, and he was starting to realize who he was dealing with. “She assaulted us. We should’ve reported—.”

“Attempted kidnapping, sexual harassment, and sexual assault. Everything she did could be seen as self-defense, as well as keeping my friend’s best interests in mind. We have your license plate number and I can give the police an almost perfect description of your face. If I were you, I would walk away right now.” Pitch’s voice grew steadier, and his fingertips dug into Jack’s shoulder. Oddly, his grip didn’t bother Jack the way the other man’s had.

The man glared, taking another step back before turning and walking away. As they watched him get into his car and drive off, Jack’s shivering stopped. He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, murmuring just loud enough for Pitch to hear, “Thank you.”

“My apologies. I should’ve been here sooner.” His voice was still deep and hostile, and his arm remained wrapped around Jack’s shoulders as he led Jack to the car. His voice grew steadier and more normal as he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Jack hesitated in saying, almost stammering. It was suddenly entirely too hard to focus with Pitch’s arm wrapped around him. If not for the contact, pale and vague images of that night at the Moon Clipper a month ago would’ve returned full force. Jack would’ve been on his knees having a panic attack if not for that arm. No, he’d be getting dragged to his death if not for the arm around his shoulders. And yet the only thing that suddenly concerned him was the warmth and security of the arm around him. Should he feel this comfortable with Pitch touching him after being grabbed by the individual Jack had wanted desperately to forget he’d ever encountered? Did Pitch even realize his arm was still on his shoulders? He must not. Honestly, Jack was appreciative of it. He wasn’t sure he could stand after such an encounter, and Pitch’s warmth was welcome in such cold weather.

“Such a poor representation of the human race should be punished for its atrocious ways of living,” he could hear Pitch grumbling, and the articulate manner in which he phrased his desire to kill the man almost made Jack laugh. Pitch continued grumbling, still unaware that he was holding Jack against him. When they reached Pitch’s car, Jack was actually sad to lose the comfort of the writer’s arm around him as he got in the car and buckled up. As soon as the arm left him, though, the reality of the scene came rushing back to him. It crashed on him like deadweight pulling him to the bottom of a cold stream. The few memories he had of the night he couldn’t remember flooded his mind, but the feelings were what really got to him. Mostly, he was weighed down by the feeling of being violated. With the air knocked out of him, he couldn’t help but curse the intensity of this delayed reaction. When Pitch got in on the driver’s side, he was greeted with a gasping and cringing Jack. “Jack—?!”

Pitch reached for him, but instead of flinching like Jack was used to doing whenever someone reached for him during a panic attack, he accepted the hand that rested on his shoulder. Though his insides felt like they were going to cave and he couldn’t stop shuddering, Pitch’s hand didn’t worsen the situation. It didn’t help like before since the panic attack was in full swing, now, but it reassured Jack that he wasn’t . . . alone. Wrapping his arms around his gut and leaning forward to give the illusion of curling into a ball, Jack rested his head on the dashboard. “I’m gonna be okay,” he uttered over and over, the words not helping so much as the repetition of his mouth moving. He was glad to be in the car rather than on the street in the cold. That would’ve been too much embarrassment for one night. When Jack reemerged from the state, he turned his head slightly to see Pitch staring intently at him. The car hadn’t moved and Pitch’s hand was still resting on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Jack muttered.

“Don’t be,” Pitch said. “I’d be more surprised if you’d felt no anxiety whatsoever.” A more concerned expression passed over the writer’s face. “Is there anything I can do?”

Jack thought for a moment, wondering if he should ask him to put his arm around him again. He elected not to, and shook his head.

Even after Pitch started the car and pulled away from the club, he put his hand back on Jack’s shoulder. They remained silent most of the way back to the apartment. Jack wanted to thank him for maintaining the physical contact, but he was too busy trying to keep his head from spinning. He was afraid talking about it would make Pitch stop, and so said nothing. 

It dawned on him that Pitch had gotten protective of him (to the point of rage, even), and had used physical contact as a form of possession over him as well as a means of comforting him. Now that he was removed from the situation that had garnered such a reaction from Pitch, he could appreciate the unwarranted giddiness it brought him.



Meanwhile, Pitch was thinking of the number of ways he would like to teach those poor excuses for human flesh a lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Next update is this upcoming Wednesday.
> 
> And guess what!
> 
> It's happening. It's gonna happen this very week. The thing you've all been waiting for in this fricking fracking fic.
> 
> 0.0


	8. Chapter 8

“Black.”

“Bunnymund.” The two men greeted each other sternly now, which somehow always made Jack want to punch Aster. Instead, he ignored them in hopes that eventually things would be somewhat less tense between the two. Aster wasn’t vocal about his disapproval of Jack’s living arrangements anymore, but he still gave Pitch pointed looks as though nonverbally conveying his displeasure to the writer.

Before Jack and Pitch left the coffee shop, Jack served Pitch his usual and waved good-bye to Toothiana, North, and Searra, all of whom were gathered for another art meeting of sorts. The meeting would begin as soon as Aster closed shop. This was one of the more unusual workdays where Jack spent all day in the coffee shop. He didn’t have to watch over Baby Tooth, and he didn’t have to head straight for the Moon Clipper after work either. He had a free night, and he had no idea what to do with it.

“I might actually get some sleep tonight,” Jack joked as Pitch sipped his drink. Reaching into his pocket, he passed an envelope to the older man. “Here’s my half, by the way.”

Pitch nodded, lowering his coffee and taking the envelope. As he pocketed it, he asked, “Did it diminish your funds too much?”

“No. I’ve been saving up for the next round of loan payments. Shouldn’t be too bad.” He hoped.

“Good.” There was a pause before they reached the car. Then Pitch asked, “Why don’t we get pizza? My treat.”

“You sure?” Jack asked. Pitch grinned and nodded, and Jack couldn’t help but grin back. “How the hell can I turn down food?”

“An appropriate answer,” Pitch uttered aloud.

“For a more recent college graduate, at least,” Jack chuckled. For a moment, Jack wished he hadn’t put his hands in his pockets. He wished he was holding Pitch’s hand. They hadn’t made any move to continue physical contact since meeting Jack’s perpetrator a few nights ago. After having that little contact, Jack couldn’t help but want more. He wished he knew what Pitch was thinking, too. It seemed impossible to read the writer. It had always seemed impossible. If Jack could pick up on the way Pitch felt about him at all, he would’ve . . . Jack didn’t know. Maybe he would’ve been able to reciprocate something if he actually knew what he was reciprocating.

Abandoning the car, they elected to walk the couple of blocks to the pizza place. When they arrived, they got a booth in the back of the restaurant that gave both of them the opportunity to overlook the rest of the customers there. After ordering drinks, Jack couldn’t help but think of this as a date. He wouldn’t say that it was a date aloud, since that would mean he’d be admitting having . . . feelings for Pitch. In his mind, at least, this could be a date. The thought made him so stupidly happy that he was grateful when Pitch pointed out, “There’s that couple from the coffee shop over yonder.” Jack looked to where Pitch was gesturing as the writer clarified, “the younger woman and older man who keeps pursuing her.”

Sure enough, there they sat. This time, she had her little brother with her. “You know,” Jack started, leaning his elbow on the table as he watched them, “I know the kid likes J, but I can’t imagine that being enough for her to continue to put up with these meetings.”

“It’s certainly not obvious why, is it?” Pitch stated as they both continued to watch the pair. The interaction between the gentleman known only as J and the younger brother seemed pleasant. In fact, they spent a good amount of time talking, whereas the young woman watched the two suspiciously. It looked as though she expected the gentleman to snatch the child up at any moment. “Maybe it’s because she begrudgingly likes him.”

“I doubt that,” Jack uttered as he saw the waitress arrive with their drinks. After ordering and before taking a sip of his water, he squinted and said, “I don’t know. Maybe you’re right.”

Pitch grinned. “Any chance she’ll toss a beverage on him at this point?”

“Not in front of her brother. It would upset him too much, making it harder for her to drag him out with her. There’s no way in hell she’ll leave him alone with J.”

“Hm.” Pitch glanced about the room, searching the crowd for anyone interesting. “Well that’s nice to see.”

“What is?” Jack asked.

“A girl her age reading,” Pitch tipped his head in the direction of a family of five. Two older brothers captured the attention of the parents while the girl, who appeared to be twelve, sat on the outside of the discussion leaning over a book.

As Jack looked closer at what she was reading, he felt a blush deepen and heat his cheeks. “That’s not exactly the sort of book she ought to be reading.”

“Why, what is it?” Pitch said, lowering his glasses to get a clearer look. When the girl adjusted her position and lifted the book, revealing the cover, Pitch uttered aloud, “ _Fifty Sha_ —?”

“Yeah,” Jack cut him off.

Pitch suddenly realized what the title of the book was without having to read any further. Readjusting his glasses, he turned away and gulped down his glass of water before asking, “How on earth did she get her hands on that travesty without her parents knowing?”

“She probably snuck it out of her mother’s room before she got to read it,” Jack theorized.

“But how is she sitting there reading it in front of them without them realizing? Are the boys’ stories of embarrassing another kid in the locker-room really that captivating?”

“She’s probably spent her whole life being neglected,” Jack thought solemnly.

Turning their gaze away from the rather disappointing example of a family, they searched for someone more positive to analyze. It was then that their watchful eyes fell upon a pair of teenagers, a girl and a boy sitting very close together. Her purse rested on their thighs, and they seemed to be slipped the pepperoni from their pizza into the bag. When Pitch and Jack looked closer, they realized the pair were feeding a stray kitten hidden within the girl’s large sack. “Pepperoni can’t be good for the poor thing.”

“But isn’t that just precious?” Jack mused.

“Provided they don’t get caught and thrown out of the establishment,” Pitch agreed.

They retreated from people-watching. After a few moments of silence, Jack felt Pitch watching him. Looking up, he wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel under that particular gaze. Gripping his glass of ice (he’d gulped down the last of his water a moment ago), he sincerely hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Finally, he asked, “Have my eyes turned a funny color or something?”

“What?” Pitch asked, raising his head from his palm as if realizing something.

“You’re staring. I’m just wondering if I’ve got a noticeable cowlick or a wild eyebrow hair.”

“Oh. No,” Pitch said, and a small laugh escaped the older man. The sound was . . . nice. “No, your eyes are their normal blue and your hair looks about as combed as usual.”

“You mean not at all?” Jack asked jokingly, because he really didn’t maintain his hair much past shampooing it and flattening it with his hand in the morning. His lack of care was one of the reasons he’d stopped bleaching it. 

Pitch’s smile widened. “It looks normal.” 

Their pepperoni and bacon pizza arrived then. At Jack’s suggestion, Pitch had been willing to try it, though he normally preferred simple pepperoni pizza. Jack had to refrain from giving a triumphant hoot at Pitch’s reaction to the flavor. Instead, Jack asked through a mouthful, “Good, right?”

“Surprisingly delicious. However did you come up with such a combination?”

“Learned a lot more than art in college. One of my greatest lessons was to keep an eye out for what the students with the munchies ate.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Pitch said before taking another bite.

“It went both ways. It was either disgusting or delicious. This turned out to be delicious enough for me to remember.”

As he polished off his first slice of pizza, Pitch asked, “What was the most disgusting?”

“Ugh,” Jack scoffed at the very thought of the concoction, “pickled eggs and peanut butter.”

Pitch paused before reaching for another slice of pizza and stared at him. “They actually did that? How? Why?” He too let out a noise of disgust.

“I don’t know. It had to be the drugs.” Biting into his pizza to rid himself of the thought, he chewed, swallowed, then asked, “You didn’t really get to experience dorm living, did you?”

Pitch shook his head. “Couldn’t. Not with Seraphina.”

“Had I gotten the choice, I would’ve commuted,” Jack said. “But there’s something to be said about living on campus. It’s not real life. Not in the slightest. But you get some good stories out of it.”

“So Aster and the others told me at the time,” Pitch said as he moved back to the pizza.

They ate, chatting about some of Jack’s other experiences as they finished the entire dish. By the time they’d reached the last slice, they were almost too full to finish. For some unknown reason, however, it seemed silly to them not to finish the last of the pizza. So they cut it in half and decided to stuff themselves. When the waitress arrived with the check, Pitch paid in cash and left enough for the tip.

As they stood to leave, they brushed past a group of men that at first Jack didn’t notice. Then one of them called out, “Well, if it isn’t the senior citizen and the milkman’s kid.”

Jack almost froze in his tracks, feeling like a hand was clenching the contents of his chest. Had Pitch not immediately grabbed his upper arm to keep him moving, Jack may have even had time to vomit up the meal he’d just enjoyed. “Let’s leave,” Pitch said, looking down at Jack with a look of concern and yet simultaneously sounding like he was withholding a storm of rage.

“Nice ass, boy,” another one of the men hollered condescendingly, making Jack shudder uncomfortably. He knew the comment was meant for him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he was determined not to panic this time. He could escape. He had Pitch, and he could escape. Steeling his resolve and refusing to break in front of them, he nodded to Pitch. At that, Pitch pulled him from the restaurant and into the night air.



The gumption of those buffoons, to insult Jack even when Pitch had threatened them with charges and Sera had injured one of them once. How dare they continue to harass Jack?

Pulling Jack along the sidewalk, an insurmountable bout of fury flurried within him. Jack forced him to a halt. “Let me breathe, just for a moment.”

“Are you alright? How can I help?” Pitch asked, his anger suddenly dissipating in favor of helping Jack.

“I just need to breathe before I—,” Jack covered his mouth, as if fighting the urge to regurgitate. Pitch took a few steps back, giving him some air. Looking around, he saw a metal trash bin Jack could use. He was just about to lead Jack to it when his gaze fell on a vehicle.

He recognized the license plate number. It was theirs.

He glared at it, and couldn’t remember ever having felt so much rage towards an object. At the very least, he hadn’t been so infuriated with a vehicle since seeing the wreckage that had killed his wife and almost taken his daughter from him. His senses felt overloaded as he clenched his fists and wished he had the strength to tear the doors off their hinges and slash open the tires. He knew full well that his status as a former member of the military made him a living weapon, and therefore he had to find better ways to resolve disputes that moved him to physical violence. Seeing as he’d shown enough resolve not to break the arms of the men who’d harassed Jack, he could resolve not to attack the vehicle.

Just as he thought he might be able to convince himself to calm down, he looked at Jack. The young man was still shaking from the encounter, and his fury ignited once more. Reaching for the metal trash can, it didn’t register with him just how heavy it was until he launched it at the windshield of the perpetrators’ car. The glass shattered, trash filled the front seats, and the alarm went off. “Shit,” Pitch uttered, both he and Jack jumping back and away from the flying debris.

“Pitch, what the hell?!” Jack cried out, his hyperventilating ceasing as he shoved the end of his scarf into his mouth.

“Didn’t think of the alarm,” Pitch uttered over the blaring vehicle.

Jack spat the scarf out. “Forget the alarm! You just vandalized a car!”

“Their car,” Pitch shot back.

Sirens howled in the distance and they heard shouting. “Dammit!” Jack exclaimed, and suddenly it was Pitch who was frozen and unable to move. It wasn’t so much that he’d done it that shocked him, but the why. He’d done it for Jack, who was now panicking and worried for him.   
Jack grabbed his hand, suddenly taking charge. “Follow me!”

Pitch obeyed without question.



Fear rising, Jack was now the one pulling Pitch. They ran, Jack leading them down one of the alleys he’d found while trekking between work and the apartment. As far as he could tell, the men the vehicle had belonged to hadn’t been the ones shouting. No one was following them. That didn’t stop him from running, though. Holding Pitch’s hand (gloved, good, that meant no fingerprints), he led his friend away from the scene of the crime.

Jack ground to a halt as they approached the sidewalk at the end of the alley, the sirens suddenly louder. Pressing Pitch into the darkest part of the alley’s end, he used what little bodyweight he had to hide Pitch and himself from the passing cops. A bitter thought smacked Jack in the face: a near kidnapping/rape occurs and there’s not a cop in sight, but a car gets smashed and suddenly they’re everywhere.

It wasn’t until after the police cars stopped passing and the sirens dimmed that Jack exhaled. With a sore stomach and ringing ears, he leaned his head against the chest so conveniently placed before him. When the thumping in the chest he was leaning against registered as a heartbeat, his eyes snapped open. He’d pressed Pitch Black into a wall. He was pressing himself against Pitch Black. His head was on Pitch Black’s chest.

And Pitch’s arms were wrapped around his waist and he liked it. 

Overwhelmed by the whole situation, Jack pulled away so that the physical contact was broken (he missed the sensation almost instantaneously) and he could look Pitch in the eyes. He ignored the fact that he was both cold and red in the face as he declared, “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

“I honestly don’t know,” Pitch answered flatly, almost calmly. And yet his heart had been racing. How could he sound so calm while his heart was thrashing against his ribcage?

“You could’ve gotten yourself into serious trouble, and for what? A couple of assholes—?”

“Who could’ve seriously hurt you, and keep harassing you might I add,” Pitch barked back. “At this point, it’s a wonder you haven’t done anything about it.”

“I just wanted to forget that it happened,” Jack explained, lowering his voice.

“I understand that, but they aren’t going to let you if they keep pestering you like this. I daresay, you shouldn’t be walking the streets alone so long as they’re out here.”

Jack sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. “And here I was beginning to think that you weren’t a serial killer and you might actually be sane.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” They exchanged glances, starting off serious as if they were arguing telepathically. Before Jack realized what was happening, Pitch’s expression was deteriorating into a smile. “Admit it: that was . . . that was fun!” 

Then he started laughing. He was laughing at the idea of having to run from the cops. Honestly, how could he find this funny? But then Jack was smiling. His smile was so wide that he, too, started chuckling. Soon they were actually laughing at one another. Jack had to cover his mouth before someone heard him, Pitch following suit. “We’re going to get ourselves killed,” Jack said through laughter, realizing it could be true but somehow the ridiculousness of it was absolutely hilarious.

“I sincerely doubt that,” Pitch countered. He snickered. “At least I hope not.”

“You actually trashed their car,” Jack laughed, neglecting to add the words ‘for me’ at the end of the statement. The truth of it would have interrupted their fun.

“Quite exciting, actually.”

“A little too exciting for me,” Jack said, clutching his still aching stomach. Belching loudly, he covered his mouth in embarrassment. Instead of reacting negatively, Pitch burst into another fit of laughter, which made Jack laugh too. The laughter had gone so far as to relax Jack and make him forget that he’d ever panicked about the prospect of arrest. It seemed all too silly. The whole situation was beginning to seem silly and dramatic, and frankly it was hilarious. Jack usually cringed at the thought of melodrama, but now he was genuinely entertained by the genre he’d suddenly been trapped in. Once both were somewhat calmed, Jack said, “Come on, you vandal. I’ma show you the scenic route.”

“But my car—.”

“Is it locked?” Pitch nodded. “Then we’ll get it in the morning. We’ll just have to walk.”

Jack led Pitch out of the alley and down the sidewalk, arriving beneath a rusted ladder the led up to the top of the building. As Jack began the ascent, Pitch called up after him, “Are you certain about this?”

“Yeah, used to do it all the time,” Jack said as he felt Pitch following him up the ladder. “Be better if we’re out of sight of the witnesses and the police anyway. Besides, no one ever looks up.”

“How are you managing to make me try all these new experiences in one night?” Though Pitch asked the question, Jack was certain it was one of those inquiries that Pitch hadn’t actually meant for him to hear.

He answered anyway. “I don’t know. I guess I bring out your inner spontaneous, fun-loving self.”

Once they reached the top of the building, Jack couldn’t help but smile at Pitch’s reaction to seeing the skyline of the small town of Burgess. It wasn’t much. It couldn’t be as remarkable as a city skyline or a country landscape, but to Jack it was home. Judging by Pitch’s reaction, it was home to Pitch, too. At this time of night, the restaurants were still lit up. The Moon Clipper was still the brightest part of the town, though. As Jack began leading Pitch along the rooftops, which were either completely connected, connected by a few pipes or rods, or just separated enough that they’d have to jump across, the music from the Moon Clipper grew louder and the scene changed. As they walked, they watched people down below moving about their business and unaware of the voyeurs above them. Pitch and Jack were still close enough to the ground that they could actually listen in on some conversations if they wanted to. Far off, they could see the blue and red flashes of the police cars. At one point, Pitch grabbed Jack’s hand and pulled him to a stop. Looking down, Jack could see Toothiana, North, Aster, Sandy, and Searra leaving the coffee shop. If they weren’t trying to keep a low profile, he would’ve called out to them.

“Everything seems smaller from up here,” Pitch mused.

Jack nodded. “Yet bigger, especially considering that we’re part of the picture. Technically, that is.” Looking at the bemused expression on the author’s face, Jack asked, “Makes you wish you could fly, doesn’t it?”

Pitch smirked. “Yes, actually.”

“Ride the wind, watch the people, dive into lakes, skim the trees,” Jack dreamed aloud.

“You’ve put a lot of thought into it, haven’t you?”

“On flying? Yeah. I’ve always wanted to fly through a blizzard. I love cold. It doesn’t bother me as much as it should.”

“It bothered you the other night,” Pitch chuckled.

“Yeah, but I wasn’t prepared for it to be that cold.” When Jack turned to look at Pitch, he wasn’t expecting to see the writer watching him. How long had he been watching him? Jack had sworn he’d be focused on the people down below. Yet here he was, staring intently at Jack. Again, Jack’s face went red. “Um . . .,” and he couldn’t speak. Great. This was a recipe for disaster. “Um . . . .”

“You were saying?” Pitch asked, and his curiosity seemed genuine.

But Jack couldn’t even bring himself to say anything else on the subject. Did Pitch realize how golden his eyes were? It must’ve been the lighting below playing tricks on Jack, or maybe Jack had never actually noticed the depth of those pale eyes.

Jack shook his head, jarred by the thoughts he was having. Clearing his throat, he pointed to the end of the building two rooftops away and said, “That way down.”

Pitch looked beyond where he was pointing. “I think I see the ladder.”

“Yep. It’s right there.”

“How fast can you run? Surely that pace you kept earlier wasn’t your best,” Pitch jibed.

Jack squinted, a devilish smile creeping across his face. “How much of that military training you got left?”

“Plenty,” Pitch said, giving him a toothy smirk just as mischievous.

“Meet you there!” Jack said, jumping over the skinny alley and racing towards the ladder. Pitch wasn’t far behind him. Jack was shocked at how fast the man really was, able to catch up with him in a matter of seconds. Jack increased his speed, adrenaline pumping through him as they ran neck and neck. They jumped over the next alleyway and landed in unison, Jack giving out a loud whoop as the raced to the last rooftop. Pitch laughed aloud. As they hopped over the last gap to the last roof, Jack was sure Pitch was holding back just so he could match pace with him. As they came to a skidding halt at the ladder, he was glad of it. He couldn’t imagine how fast Pitch truly could run. Climbing down the ladder, their apartment building just across the street, it struck Jack how different the both of them seemed now. Never in his wildest imaginings would he have thought it possible for Pitch to do things he’d done tonight. From trying a new pizza topping to throwing trash cans at cars to running across rooftops, Pitch hadn’t failed to surprise him. “You know,” Jack huffed out as they touched down on the ground again, “I never would’ve taken you for the troublemaker you’ve been tonight.”

“I thought I was a serial killer,” Pitch said with a wry grin.

Jack grinned. “Still not as exciting as all of what just happened.”

He was pleased that Pitch smiled at that. “For the record, and you can tell Aster this, you never would’ve been my next victim.”

“Glad to hear it. I didn’t exactly plan to die anytime soon.” And without Pitch and Sera, he would’ve been dead, along with a great many other nouns he didn’t want to consider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update Friday. Get ready.
> 
> Also, the lovely Shinku has drawn a certain male original character from the Tea series whom everyone seems to adore despite his terrifying grin. Care to check it out? Here's a link. Isn't he just perfect?  
> http://reborn-chan.deviantart.com/art/Rin-Realism-425078269
> 
> After this week, regular updates of one chapter per week will resume.


	9. Chapter 9

“After such a delightful experience, I do believe it’s time for a pot of tea,” Pitch said as he hung up his and Jack’s coats.

Jack flung his scarf at a free hook, the cloth landing perfectly and hanging beside the coats. “Brew away, my friend.” 

Pitch chuckled low in his throat, his lips shut tightly as he moved to the kitchen. Picking the kettle up off the stove, he handed it to Jack. “Fill it with enough for two.”

Jack hesitated before taking the kettle. “Okay, no offense, how exactly do I fill a kettle for two? Is the line indicating maximum amount too much or something?”

Pitch laughed aloud this time as he pulled his teas out of their cabinet. “Take two cups, fill them with the desired amount of water, then pour the water into the kettle. Simple, effective, quick. Some would say tedious.”

As Jack followed Pitch’s directions, he muttered, “Never really understood the appeal of tea.”

“Well, how many teas have you tried?” Pitch asked, opening a new box of Earl Grey.

“Hmm . . . Lipton and that chamomile stuff Sera made for me that one time. It tasted funny.”

Pitch scoffed. “Lipton. That tangy American bull.”

“Whoah there, don’t hate on the Lipton. Sweet iced tea is pretty good.” He passed the kettle to Pitch, who placed it on an eye.

“I once heard sweet iced tea described as diabetes in a cup, and I’m inclined to believe it. Now hand me the cups. I’m going to show you how to drink English.”

“Sounds like an innuendo,” Jack said with a laugh as he leaned against the sink and watched Pitch prepare the tea. Turning the eye up on high, all that was left to do was wait for the kettle to whistle.

Pitch’s blood was still pumping through him at an abnormal pace. His adrenaline sang from the activities the two had participated in that night and . . . there was just something about the way Jack’s cheeks still seemed flushed from the running. There was something about the way he leaned against the counter, hands braced on the edges as if ready to push off and walk away at any moment. The idea bothered Pitch. Suddenly he felt like he’d never get an opportunity like this again.

His mind had been going in one direction since Jack had pulled him through the alleys and over the rooftops. However, if he’d simply asked his daughter, his mind had been going in one direction since meeting one Jackson Overland. She’d seen his feelings long before he had. She’d called him out on it. All that was left to do was act on them, but . . . could he really?

He stared at Jack. The slightest bit of sweat decorated the young man’s brow, and Pitch could almost hear his breathing. His breathing was uneven, as though he were still struggling to bring it under his control. His shoulders were hunched just a little, as if anticipating something. Another adventure. Another attack. Another incident to run from.

Jack stared at the floor, though. He wasn’t watching Pitch watch him, which made things just a little harder for Pitch. Should he? Shouldn’t he? What to do? He’d been asking himself that a lot since Jack had entered his life.

The kettle whistled. Turning his attention (not wholly but partially) away from Jack, he tried to focus on pouring the hot water into the cups. He watched the color change as the tea leaves and water mixed, the scent and steam doing little to capture his full attention. What to do? Setting the kettle back down, it was as if he could hear Sera telling him to go for it in his head. And why not? Well, daughter, because this could ruin everything. So much could change. So much could happen.

But what if things changed for the better? Wouldn’t it be worth the risk? Pitch glared down at the cups of tea, as if scrying for an answer. The heat and smell of fresh Earl Grey still did nothing to help him in this predicament.

Clenching his fists, he sighed heavily and dared himself to move. His heart pounded, his pulse thumping in his ears. Straightening up, he started to take his glasses off and set them beside the cups of tea. It was then that he heard Jack make a noise. Turning to look at the young man, he asked, “What?”

“I uh . . . I haven’t seen you without the glasses.” His face was flushed red as his eyes shifted between Pitch and the floor. “You look good. Younger. It’s . . .,” Jack stopped, running a shaky hand through his rich hair. For the first time, Pitch realized Jack was just as nervous as he was.

At that point, there was nothing else holding him back. In two large, quick steps, Pitch was upon him. Jack barely had time to look up and ask whatever it was he was about to ask before Pitch was leaning him over the counter. With one hand on the back of the young man’s neck, Pitch pulled Jack’s lips to his.

The kiss was soft. It felt long. It felt hesitant. It felt . . . incredible. Incredibly easy, as easy as breathing. Easier, in some respects. Pitch felt Jack’s spine stiffen beneath his hand, but the tenseness melted away in a matter of seconds. White noise buzzed in Pitch’s brain as he felt Jack’s hands clasp his shoulders and Jack seemed so small next to him. He was so little that Pitch could probably carry him anywhere without breaking a sweat and suddenly the idea of carrying him was enough to make Pitch want to . . . .

He pulled back slowly, taking a moment to breathe before opening his eyes to see Jack’s reaction. Jack was gazing up at him with his mouth slightly agape, and his eyes were a crystal blue. It was the bluest Pitch had ever seen them, and those eyes made him feel like he was going to lose control.

In moments like these, Pitch tended to say whatever came to his mind first. So he did, and only afterwards did he remember the risks of uncensored speech. “I haven’t been with anyone in about twenty years.”

Thankfully, Jack smiled at him. “I haven’t been with anyone ever.”

Pitch suddenly felt his breathing speed up. “Impossible.”

“Why?” Jack asked, his voice a barely audible giggle.

“You’re too damn beautiful for me to be the first to notice you.”

“To be fair, you’re more fucking observant than the average individual.”

Whether it was Jack’s word choice or the blood rushing away from his head, Pitch would never know. All he did know was that he was no longer in control of his own body as he took Jack’s face in both hands and pressed his lips to Jack’s once more. This time the kiss was hard, heated, and anything but slow and hesitant. Jack moaned, and Pitch could feel the vocalization in his hands and it was an absolutely amazing feeling. The only thing more amazing was having Jack’s arms encircle his neck and pull him closer and, “Fuck it!”

Pitch’s hands left Jack’s face as he grabbed the young man by the hips and lifted him onto the counter, sitting Jack up on the flat surface next to the sink and pulling him into a tight embrace. Diving back into the session, Pitch’s lips devoured Jack’s greedily as Jack’s grip on Pitch tightened. Pitch’s hands flexed against the young man’s back as he held him close, their bodies flush against one another. The counter provided both relief for Pitch’s neck (Jack’s and Pitch’s heights weren’t exactly compatible) and the opportunity to feel just how aroused Jack was compared to him. It was utterly intoxicating how heated Jack’s skin had become, how red his face was, how pliant his flesh felt, how blue his eyes were _holy shit_.

Pitch Black just couldn’t get enough of Jackson Overland.



To say that Jack had been surprised by Pitch’s pounce would likely constitute as the biggest understatement of the year. It hadn’t quite struck Jack how big Pitch was until the writer was leaning over him and crushing Jack against him. It hadn’t occurred to Jack how strong Pitch was until he’d lifted Jack up and set him on the counter. Jack instinctively wrapped his legs around Pitch’s waist and took pleasure in how the older man groaned at the contact. Their kisses were frenzied, their breaths way past mingling, their limbs tangled, and their torsos and . . . other regions pressed together so tightly that a ruler couldn’t fit between them. Jack could almost laugh at how lame that thought seemed to him, but there was just one problem: he couldn’t breathe enough to laugh.

Pitch’s hand slipped under Jack’s shirt, his large palm pressed over the small of Jack’s back. The warmth of Pitch’s hand made Jack gasp against the man’s lips. Pitch must have read that as an invitation, because soon his tongue was just as tangled in Pitch as his limbs. Something pooled in the pit of Jack’s gut and he couldn’t help but cry out at how overwhelmed he felt. Tilting his head back, he gasped for air only to have it torn from his lungs again by Pitch’s lips on his neck.

“Jesus!” Jack just about screamed. How the hell could every bit of Pitch Black be so freaking hot? “Okay, okay slow . . . slow down.” Pitch drew back just the slightest and suddenly the intensity of his predatory, pale gaze made Jack’s insides melt. “I lied. Don’t stop.”

“My pleasure.” Pitch seized Jack’s lips just before lifting the younger man up off the counter completely and . . . oh God, where was Pitch carrying him?

His heart hammered and his head spun. Before he had time to react, he was being pressed into the all-too-comfortable couch cushions. Pitch’s weight caused the cushions to dip as he lowered himself to cover Jack and Jack just couldn’t breathe. Pitch’s temperature was overwhelming, and his arousal . . . Jesus, that was what that was? Jack didn’t know whether he was bucking to feel more of it or trying to get away from it. Jack’s own bodily response startled him to the point that he moaned, placing both hands on Pitch’s shoulders to push him off while begging, “I can’t . . . I can’t keep . . . .”

“What’s wrong?” Pitch asked, lifting himself to give Jack some breathing room. When Jack looked up at him, the writer’s concern was genuine. “Did I do something—?”

“No! No, no, I just—,” Jack stopped, struggling to phrase things accurately. How exactly does one phrase this correctly? I’m sorry sir, but what exactly are you hiding in those trousers of yours? Jack shook his head. No, that was absolutely not the best way to bring up his nervousness in regards to where this was going. “I just . . . this is fast, and I have no . . . no idea what I’m doing.” To be fair, it was the truth. Vague and a blatant omission of Jack’s terror of this level of intimacy, but the truth all the same.

At first, he was afraid Pitch was going to pull away. He was afraid that was going to make him shy away from pursuing . . . whatever the hell this was going to be. He was afraid he’d screwed things up. Again. Instead, Pitch ran a hand through Jack’s hair and nodded. “Too fast. Yes.”

“Please don’t be upset,” Jack said.

“Me? Upset?” Pitch stated as he moved to stand. “I’m about to drink tea with my favorite troublemaker. Why would I be upset?”

Between the way he expressed excitement over fixing tea and the ridiculousness of how fast the subject changed, Jack couldn’t help but laugh. When Pitch almost tripped on the way to the kitchen, Jack asked through the laughter, “Are you okay?”

“Been a while since I ran from the cops. Would you like milk and sugar in your cup?” He asked this as he limped over to the refrigerator.

“First off, what do you mean it’s been a while? Second, you’re actually sharing your tea with me?” Jack watched as Pitch prepared his own cup. “Did you twist your ankle or something? Want me to get it?”

“No,” Pitch said with a laugh as he slipped his glasses back on. “I was a bit of a rough when I was younger, so I have had to run from the police. Never thought I’d be doing that again. And yes, you’re having a cup of tea with me.” The remainder of the tension over his decision to cease the session seeped from Jack when Pitch smiled at him. “Milk and sugar?” his friend asked again.

Jack grinned as he looked Pitch over. Nodding, he said, “May as well.” While Pitch went on to prepare Jack’s cup of Earl Grey, Jack maneuvered himself on the couch so that he was resting his head on his folded arms, leaning on the arm of the couch that was closest to the kitchen where Pitch worked. Watching carefully, Jack uttered, “I can’t decide if you look better with or without the glasses.” Pitch failed to hide the smile the came to his lips. Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Pitch look so awkward. Not this much in one day, at least. What must be going on inside that mind of his? In that moment, Jack decided, “Both. I definitely like both.”

When Pitch finished preparing the cups, he brought both over. Handing one to Jack, he took a seat on the couch beside the young man. Holding the mug in both hands, the warmth of the tea reminded him a lot of Pitch and he couldn’t help but smile to himself. Without thinking, he leaned against the older man. As Jack became aware of what he was doing, he could feel himself getting ready to straighten up. Then Pitch draped an arm across his shoulders, and a hum escaped his throat. “You fascinate me,” he barely heard the writer whisper.

Jack’s smile widened. “You make me nervous,” he said honestly.

“Why’s that?”

“Because there’s never been anyone like you.” Jack looked up at Pitch, and felt an almost tangible change between them. It was true. There’d never been anyone like Pitch in Jack’s life. Jack had never allowed anyone that close to him. Well, never while sober at least. It seemed like whenever he tried to get closer to people, they left. He was so used to being alone that he stopped noticing the absence of human contact in some aspects of his life. Yet Pitch felt different to him. He couldn’t quite get why, but he did.

He glanced back at his cup, biting his tongue before he said something else. He could still feel Pitch’s gaze on him, likely trying to understand Jack’s change of mood based on his physical appearance or, at the very least, figure out what to say in response. When he did speak, his words were certainly unexpected. “I can’t imagine what my life would be like here had I never run across you. It’d probably be dull. So, in that case,” his arm tightened around Jack’s shoulders as he relaxed into his seat, “there hasn’t been anyone like you for me either.”

Jack looked back up to see Pitch smiling at him. Pitch’s smiles, though hard to catch seeing as he often tried not to show them, were some of the most devastating to Jack. Frowns he was used to, and frowns he could handle from anyone including Pitch. Pitch’s smiles, though, had the tendency to make Jack’s willpower dissolve. “And yet,” Jack muttered half to himself and half to Pitch, “I don’t even know your real name.”

There was a pause between them. It lasted only a moment, because soon Pitch was laughing. The laughter seemed to bubble up from deep within his chest, and Jack realized his laughter could be just as devastating as his smiles. “It’s terrible.”

“I doubt that. Can’t be as bad as my former penname.”

“Oh can’t it? Is that a challenge?”

Jack gave him a devious smile. “Tell me your name.”

“Pitchiner.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Your first name.”

Pitch sighed, and Jack could finally see a hint of color on his high cheekbones. At first Pitch uttered the name so low that it sounded like he said Katniss, and last Jack checked Pitch was not a starving figurehead of the rebellion against Panem. After asking him to slow down and repeat, Jack finally discovered Pitch’s real name. “Kozmotis.”

There was another long pause before Jack asked, “Kozmotis?” Pitch nodded, seemingly embarrassed by the confession. “Are you kidding? That sounds like the name of some . . . Roman general, I don’t know. Why would you be ashamed of that? That’s badass!”

Pitch dragged a hand across his forehead, sipping his tea before responding with, “You try spelling it when you’re five. The teachers couldn’t even pronounce it correctly, and my peers . . . they had a knack for mispronouncing it in a manner that it always sounded vulgar.”

“Point taken.” Jack sipped his tea, burning the roof of his mouth. “Mmph!”

“It can’t still be hot,” Pitch chuckled out at him.

“I’m sensitive, dammit!” Jack gargled as he attempted to cool the tea in his mouth before swallowing.

“I’ll say,” Pitch said.

That actually almost made Jack choke he was sniggering so much. Once downed, he said, “And it tastes the way old people smell.”

Pitch tried so hard to look offended at that, but wound up laughing too. “You take that back! Your tongue is burnt and you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Jack couldn’t speak, Pitch’s indignation proving too entertaining. It just seemed too hilarious that they’d been reduced to laughing over the way Earl Grey tastes. Both men set their tea on the coffee table before them as Pitch clarified, “And don’t think this exempts you from telling me your name.”

“Oh,” Jack said as he inhaled to soothe the burn. “I used to sign off on my art as Jack Frost. I even bleached my hair. White, not blonde. It was a phase.”

“How,” Pitch started, “is that embarrassing?”

“I named myself after a fictional character and changed my appearance based on him!”

“And what’s embarrassing about that? If I had had my way as a child, everyone would’ve called me Maxwell.”

“Why?”

“You know, the Beatles’ song?”

Jack’s eyes widened as he stared at Pitch. “I fucking knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“You’re a goddamn serial killer. Where are you hiding you hammer?”

Pitch’s smile turned mischievous quickly. “Well, lucky for you I left it with Sera. Never you mind that though. I have other methods.”

Jack didn’t doubt it. He doubted Pitch didn’t have another hammer lying around somewhere, but Jack definitely believed him when he said there were other methods. As they continued drinking their tea and sitting on the couch together, Pitch’s arm adjusted around Jack’s shoulders and Jack shifted so he was leaning more onto Pitch. For someone so tall and thin, he was a very comfortable individual. Of course, similar could be said of Jack from what he knew about himself. Leaning on Pitch like this, Jack actually felt him hum before he heard it. “What are you thinking about?”

He craned his neck as he looked back and up at Pitch, who was smiling down at him. “I’m trying to imagine you with white hair. It’s difficult because of your eyes. But,” Pitch reached around to cup Jack’s face, running a thumb over his cheekbone, “if they stayed this blue all the time I could see it.”

Jack couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Setting his tea on the coffee table, he turned around and kissed Pitch this time. It wasn’t frenzied like before, and it wasn’t hesitant like the first. It was gentle with the possibility of getting intense, and Jack loved it. He loved the taste of tea on Pitch’s lips and he loved how Pitch put his hands on Jack’s waist as if supporting him. When he pulled back, he whispered, “You realize I’m going to start calling you Koz or something, right?”

Pitch smiled against Jack’s lips. “Eventually. For now, try to keep it between us. Kozmotis isn’t exactly the name of a horror novelist.”

“Yeah, more of a fantasy writer.” Jack snuggled back down against Pitch before he said, “You realize this tea is going to keep us up all night, right?”

“So?”

“So . . . sleep isn’t an option.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack smiled up at Pitch. “If you say so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, smut was going to happen in this chapter but Jack got realistic on me again. Little shit. You are the monkey wrench in my operation, Jack. I hope you're happy.
> 
> Meanwhile as I was writing this chapter the Scorpions song "There's No One Like You" was playing in my head. 
> 
> Don't kill me. I'm sorry this may not have been what you expected, but if you kill me you won't get more.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ALIVE I AM SO SORRY I DID NOT MEAN TO GO SO LONG WITHOUT UPDATING PLEASE FORGIVE ME I KNOW THIS CHAPTER IS NOT AT ALL WHAT YOU WERE HOPING FOOOOOOOOOOOOOR

They’d fallen asleep on the couch after having spent the night talking into the wee hours of the morning. Jack lay sprawled on top of Pitch, his head resting comfortably over the other man’s beating heart. The empty cups that had contained their tea rested on the floor at the head of the couch. The only thing that roused them was the sound of Pitch’s cellphone ringing. Stirring awake, the author grumbled before looking at the device that had somehow made it across the room and on the floor over the course of the night. Squinting, he answered the phone before looking at who exactly was calling.

“Pitch Black speaking,” he murmured, staring down at the sleeping young man. He smiled to himself as Jack remained asleep even as Pitch combed his fingers through his rich hair.

“So have you hooked up with him yet?”

The question made Pitch’s eyes widen and his brows leap. “Seraphina Pitchiner!”

“What?! My OTP senses were tingling!”

“Your what? Speak English, young lady,” Pitch said, lowering his voice as Jack mumbled something against his chest but didn’t wake.

“Why are you being so quiet, Dad? Are you watching him sleep?”

Pitch squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the rest of the sleep out of his eyes. “What is an OTP?” he asked.

“Something my roommate always talks about and I figured it fit the situation. Don’t change the subject. You’re totally watching him sleep.”

Pitch sighed, resting a hand on Jack’s hair again. “Well—.”

“OhmyGodareyouinthesamebedrightnowthat’sawesome!”

Pitch squinted again. “No we’re not . . . in a bed. Wait, how on earth did I understand what you were saying?”

An earsplitting screech pierced his head and he had to pull the phone away from his ear to regain that particular sense. When Sera stopped squealing, he could barely make out his daughter saying, “It’s about frickin’ time!”

“I’ve told you nothing,” he argued. “How do you even know what’s happening?”

“I know all, Father, and you have given away everything!” she said in a tone that anyone but him would have found quite disturbing.

“Alright then, what are we doing?” he asked.

There was a pause, and for a moment he thought he’d stumped her. Then she said, “You’re cuddling on the couch because you two stayed up all night talking. You totally made out, too.” Pitch couldn’t hold in the sigh any longer. As soon as he exhaled, she added, “You can say it.”

“I’m not going to say it.”

“Please! Just this once can you say it?”

With a quiet chortle, Pitch whispered, “Just this once.”

“I’m waiting.”

“You were right.”

There was another scream that forced him to pull the phone away before he heard her shout, “I’M TELLING EVERYONE!” Then she hung up.

Dropping the phone on the floor, Pitch pinched his sinuses and had to release another sigh. As his fingers threaded through the young man’s locks, he couldn’t help but smile at his daughter’s enthusiasm. He just hoped Jack felt just as serious about this relationship’s potential as she did. As Pitch did. He suddenly felt disheartened. What if last night had been a onetime thing for Jack? It didn’t seem likely, but Pitch knew his luck. He knew how much trouble his aggression, passionate or violent or otherwise, could get him into. He hated the idea that said aggression might have cost him their friendship.

“Well,” Jack then whispered against his chest, “someone’s excited.”

Pitch smiled. “Indeed. That makes at least one of us.”

“What?” Jack’s head tilted up as he made eye contact with Pitch. “And you’re not?”

“I am,” Pitch admitted. “It’s . . . it’s been a while. I don’t want to seem pushy or anything. I can be sort of creepy according to some—what?”

Pitch had stopped talking as soon as he noticed a change in Jack’s face. The young man’s eyes had narrowed and a wry smile had crossed his lips. It made Pitch want to wipe the look off of him somehow. Maybe his own lips would do the trick. When Jack spoke, however, the other man held his full attention. “You’ve met the societal definition of creepy from the start. You think I can’t handle _that_ by now, we’ve got bigger issues than whether or not we should enter into a relationship.” Jack sighed, twisting so he was fully on top of and still facing Pitch, his chin resting on folded arms. “Plus, you stopped when I asked you to. When I said we were moving too fast. That’s the opposite of being pushy.”

“I hardly find that a plus. It’s just being a decent human being,” Pitch argued.

“And in case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t exactly been dealing with decent human beings in a romantic sense recently.” 

“Point taken.”

Jack closed his eyes and exhaled. When he opened his eyes again, they were bluer than before. “I’m serious about this. I’m also incredibly inexperienced. Does that bother you?”

Pitch shook his head. “Not in the slightest.”

Jack smiled. “Then I guess Sera’s gonna have fun informing the whole student body of her dad’s affairs.”

“Affair. Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Are you kidding? Everything’s an affair given the right circumstances.” They chuckled. Then Jack added, “Jeez, if we were gonna end up sleeping together what was the point of me moving into the other room?” He immediately followed up with, “Kidding, of course.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be a joke,” Pitch suggested.

Jack’s cheeks heated at the idea as he stared into Pitch’s eyes. It took Pitch a moment to realize his own cheeks were flushed also. He couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his lips as Jack leaned in and kissed him. He felt more reassured by that than by anything Jack had said previously primarily because it was the young man kissing him and not Pitch initiating the action. Humming as their lips pressed firmly together, Pitch dragged tired fingers through Jack’s hair and pulled him closer.

The kiss deepened, and Pitch found himself shifting so that Jack was straddling his hips. The sound that escaped the younger man’s mouth as their passion increased actually made Pitch tremble. His hands slid down Jack’s back, finally coming to rest on pale, slender hips. Pitch knew pallor of the skin on Jack’s abdomen well, for he often had a hard time ignoring how some of the man’s shirts tended to ride up as he performed menial tasks such as putting away groceries or making his bed. Not that Pitch had been watching. Thoughts of Jack’s exposed skin made Pitch want to tear his clothing off even more.

Without thinking, Pitch ground his hips against Jack’s. Jack pulled back, his surprised gasp reminding Pitch that he’d wanted to take things a little slower. Before Pitch could apologize, however, Jack let out a tortured moan and bit his lip as his eyes rolled back into his head. After allowing a brief interlude for the young man to collect himself, Jack mashed his lips against Pitch’s again and began grinding. Pitch growled, hands fisting in Jack’s shirt before he sat up, lifted Jack, and flipped them both over so that Pitch was pressing Jack into the couch cushions as he’d done the night before. Picking up pace, Jack’s moans grew louder and Pitch’s clothes just kept getting more and more uncomfortable. Both men were so hard it was truly a miracle they hadn’t noticed their trousers biting against their erections sooner. Panting as they pressed their hips together, the heat between them growing at an unbearable rate, they—.

An alarm in another part of the flat went off. As soon as they heard it, they snapped out of their daze. Jack’s eyes shot open, and he suddenly looked . . . disappointed. “Dammit,” he murmured, rubbing his face with both hands. “I gotta go to work.”

Oh. Work. Work was still a thing. Pitch sighed. “Indeed. I need to get ready as well.” And yet they were still very much entangled and . . . well, not moving.

Jack sighed. “Guess we’ll just have to save this for later.”

The notion of something akin to what had just transpired occurring later on was enough to make Pitch return the smile.



“Alright, what’s gotten into you?”

“Hmm?” Jack stared at his boss. Work was surprisingly slow, and for some reason he didn’t mind it as much. The intervals between customers allowed him enough time to think about his new relationship status. He felt like a middle-schooler all over again, having a secret crush on someone and daydreaming about it. The only difference this time was that the feelings were requited and he was in a relationship.

And Aster was staring at him suspiciously. “Something’s up. You don’t even have a pencil behind your ear. Usually I have to fight with you to get you to stop drawing on the job, but you’re not even interested in doing that. And your face . . . .”

Aster’s sentence sort of trailed off, making Jack squint over at him. “My face? What about it?”

“No offense, kiddo, but uh . . . you’re usually white as a sheet. Not so much today. You look like . . . like . . . like you’re blushing all the time.”

Jack looked away, staring out the windows of the coffee shop. He tried to subtly feel his cheeks with the tips of his fingers. He didn’t feel hotter than normal.

“He is right, you know?” North said after taking a big swig of a cinnamon concoction Jack had made for him. “Something is different about you.”

“You guys are exaggerating,” Jack joked. His face really did feel heated at the notion of them finding out what he was actually thinking about. Not that he would mind, but he wasn’t sure how open Pitch wanted to be about it yet.

Kozmotis Pitchiner, the real name of horror novelist Pitch Black. He never would’ve guessed that was his name. He stood by what he said, though: it sounded badass. He would love to call him by his real name, sometime. Wow, that thought could’ve taken a different turn in my head, he thought to himself.

“Alright, spit it out,” Aster said, possibly noticing the increase of redness on Jack’s face.

“What? What are you guys suggesting?”

“You are hiding something. Is obvious,” North declared.

“You two are crazy.”

“Then why’d you turn all red just now? What’re you thinking about, mate?” There was a pause as Aster’s eyes suddenly started widening. “Never mind. Don’t say anything.”

“What?” Jack could feel his blush deepening even as he said it.

“Nah. Don’t need to know, don’t wanna know,” Aster declared, turning away.

“Actually, I am still curious. What is it you are thinking of?” North said, staring intently at Jack. Jack found himself backing away from the man.

“For the love of all that’s holy, don’t answer that. North, stop asking questions!”

Jack let out a nervous chuckle. “Guys, I really think you’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“So who is she?” North asked.

“What?!”

“He. It’s a he,” Aster declared.

North’s eyebrows rose. “He? Surely not—.”

“Yeah, I fucking knew it.”

“Aren’t you the one always complaining about language?!” Jack burst out, trying to change the subject. He wasn’t very successful.

“My shop, my rules. I can break my own rules. You can’t. Plus, we’re the only three here,” Aster retorted.

“Now cough up the details! You’re with Pitch now?” North interjected.

Jack felt cornered. His face felt like it was on fire. How did they know? How did they know he was with Pitch, how had they . . . ? “Sera,” he whispered to himself. Then he covered his face completely.

“So the gal wasn’t just flapping her gums. It’s true, then,” Aster said. He sounded like he’d been hoping it weren’t true, honestly. That bothered Jack on some level.

“Where are the details, Jack? How did it happen?” North pleaded, his eyes filled with something akin to joy. At least he wasn’t being malicious about it, but he was starting to sound like a gossip. When did North start gossiping? Jack had never noticed such behavior in him before.

“Look,” Jack said, shoulders slumped and hands up. He felt like he was staring down a pack of hyenas. He was shaking like it, too. “I’m . . . I’m not sure I want to get into that with you guys just yet.”

“That’s the most intelligent thing you’ve said all day. Granted, you haven’t been saying much. For once,” Aster said. Then he stepped into the back of the shop, out of sight of the customers.

Jack felt uncomfortable, not just because he’d been cornered but also because of Aster’s reaction. Plus, why would Sera be talking to him about it? Jack didn’t realize they talked all that often. Turning to North, who was still staring at him and hoping for more information, Jack sighed. “Am I missing something?”

North, ever the jolly soul, shook his head and half-growled, “Nah! He’s just worried about you. Thinks you’re young and foolish and whatnot. Age difference isn’t something to scoff at, but I think you’re in good hands.”

Jack grinned, looking down nervously. In good hands. They weren’t just _good_ you know, he found himself thinking. Then something occurred to him. Glancing back at North, he asked, “Any chance Aster’s also nervous about Pitch discovering his talks with Sera?”

North gave him a playful look. “Possibly. This isn’t the first time it’s happened. But as far as I see, they are just friends.”

“It’d probably be awkward otherwise.” Very. It was one thing for Jack and Pitch to be in a relationship. Jack had no family to complain about the age difference (aside from Aster and the others, for they did seem like a family unit on good days), but he had a distinct feeling that Pitch would be more than just unpleased with Aster if he thought for one second there was more to Sera’s talking to the coffee shop owner and designer than was visible. Pitch could be overprotective. Jack had witnessed this first hand, and oddly it had not given him pause till then. Even with Pitch’s overprotectiveness in mind, he didn’t feel any different. In fact, he was still counting the minutes till he got off work and could see the author again.



“This professor is driving me crazy. I mean, the man is brilliant. Simply brilliant. But I’d love it if once, just once, he actually remembered to bring his lesson plan. I’d even be happy if he remembered our names for once. There’s about twenty of us. How hard would that be?”

Sera rolled over onto her side, adjusting the book she had been reading and trying to find a suitable position to continue in. As much as she loved her roommate’s babbling, seeing as it helped distract her from the bad thoughts that sometimes came creeping into the forefront of her mind, right now Sera was more interested in book she was reading. She’d spent all night trying to go through half of the book only face plant into it and fall asleep. The nightmares had been awful. She’d take pirates and buried treasure over what she’d experienced in those dreams. She’d take _Treasure Island_ over the forgetfulness of her roommate’s favorite professor any day, for that matter.

She felt shaky as she continued reading, her brain inadvertently going back to the nightmare. It had been more vivid than the others. She had actually felt like she was in the car as the crash happened. She wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t want the images to come flashing back to her. Avoiding sleep had become an art for her, but it seemed putting off the need had only worsened her situation.

Still the dream lingered. The crash. The impact. The dimming of all senses, the disorientation. How was she even able to recall all of this? She had been so young that it seemed ridiculous that her brain could store that much detail at the time. And why did it have to unlock now? Today was a good day. Her dad was finally getting a life. Well, she could have put that a little nicer, but it seemed right to phrase it that way. And plus, the new boyfriend was fine. Good choice, Dad, Sera found herself thinking. That was enough to make her smile again, even if for just a short moment.

She’d managed to call and talk to Aster a few times since meeting Jack and company. She’d spoken to Aster for a good amount of time that morning, as a matter of fact. How he’d managed to set aside time for her in his busy schedule, she didn’t know. He seemed to enjoy talking to her about as much as she enjoyed talking to him. She managed not to sound flirtatious in the slightest. While he was a fine individual to behold, and his accent was very appealing, she liked the casualness of their conversations. It was a lot more refreshing to talk to someone older and more mature than those around her sometimes. She supposed that came from having been around her father and only her father for so long.

She wouldn’t have had her father if not for the crash. At the very least, she wouldn’t have had to have _only_ her father.

Snapping the book shut, she curled up on the bed. The book wasn’t working this time. Listening to her roommate’s banter wasn’t helping. She tried thinking of other things instead. The more she thought, though, the more likely it seemed these thoughts were going to go right back to the nightmare of the car crash and her repressed memories.

That was what the nightmares were, right? Repressed memories? She wasn’t sure. She just knew they made her feel uneasy, and every movement seemed like a threat to her when she got like this.

She practically jumped out of her skin when her roommate dropped one of her notebooks on the floor. Sera didn’t even realize she’d let out a shriek until her roommate turned and stared at her. When asked if she was okay, Sera gave a short, “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

Her roommate’s gaze turned serious. “Did you have another nightmare last night?”

Sera hesitated before nodding. “I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

That didn’t go over well. Her roommate’s eyes narrowed as she said, “You said you’d say something if you had another one. How bad was it?”

“I felt more . . . connected this time. It felt real.” As the words left Sera’s mouth, she felt like her involuntary shaking was getting worse. She hated this. She absolutely loathed not being in control of her own body, loathed not being able to stop and keep what she was feeling to herself. She sure as hell didn’t want to share this sort of thing with anyone else. It was hard. It left her vulnerable.

But she and her roommate had made a deal, and her roommate wasn’t going to let her forget it. “You said the next time this happened, you’d talk to your dad.”

A rush of panic flew into her. “But—.”

“No buts, Sera. He’ll understand.”

“He’ll worry.”

“But from what you’ve said, he deserves to know.” There was a pause as Sera’s roommate looked her over, realizing how uncomfortable this was making her feel. Sighing, she amended, “I’ll dial, you speak. Sound easier?”

Sera thought about it. This would ruin her father’s day. She couldn’t do that to him. “Can’t I just wait—?”

“Absolutely not. You do it or I will. We made a deal.” Standing up and picking Sera’s cell phone off her desk, she touched the screen and began dialing. Sera glared at her, and for a moment her roommate was oblivious to the stare. When she finally did notice, she pinned Sera with a gimlet look of her own. “Don’t think you’re the only one who watches people and cracks codes. You and I get along for a reason.”

That actually made Sera feel braver. As her roommate handed Sera the now ringing phone, Sera turned to the other girl and said, “Thanks Em.” Waiting with baited breath, she prayed her father didn’t pick up. Maybe if he didn’t pick up, Em would drop the subject.

As if reading her mind, Em stated, “Leave a voicemail.”

Bitch, Sera thought to herself. When she reached the inbox of Pitch Black, however, he stalled. For a few seconds, she blanked out on everything she was going to say. She already felt guilty for bothering him even though he hadn’t picked up. It wasn’t until she felt the phone itself shaking in her palm that she realized she had to say something. “Dad?” Her voice sounded ricketier than it should have. This message would surely make him panic. Em prompted her to go on, though. Clearing her throat, Sera whispered, “I need to talk to you. Call back soon.” With one last sigh to attempt the calming of her nerves, she uttered, “I love you.”

After she hung up, she cursed. Yep, that voicemail was going to send him in a panic. But even with it over, she couldn’t stop shaking. Closing her eyes, all she saw were images from her dream. She couldn’t escape. Em was right: she needed to talk to someone. For once she just wished it wasn’t her dad, not because she didn’t want to tell him. It was more because this was the worst possible time for something like his daughter’s nightmares to occur and get in the way of his newfound happiness. Sera sighed and hugged herself as she rolled over to face the wall. She’d wanted so terribly to deal with this on her own. Sometimes, one just couldn’t face things alone though. It killed her that that notion applied to her, no matter how independent she’d tried to convince everyone she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I've had my initial panic, I will tell you some things. I am in college, and this is my senior year. I'm a double major. I have a lot of papers to write. Please forgive me, for updates will not be as regular as they had before. However, you can rest assured that I will see this story through to its end. I am so sorry for the delay. I will also be writing for the other fandom I've joined because while doing multiple papers slows down my updates here, working on this one thing only has been more difficult than anticipated. I'm trying to keep the juices flowing so things don't grow stale.
> 
> Again, this chapter did not turn out as I'd hoped. However, everything is still going as planned. Yes, I have a plan now. We'll see if you like its execution.
> 
> I love you all. Thank you for your patience.


	11. Chapter 11

“Ah! You’re just in time to rescue your new boyfriend,” Aster said, sarcasm dripping from every word. Though Pitch was certain he meant no real damage, Jack’s face did appear to be beet red. What on earth had they been discussing?

“Any particular person I should be saving you from?” Pitch asked, a hint of a smile showing despite his efforts to remain coy.

Jack grinned in response. “It’s nothing. No worri—.”

“I just wanted some details on how the two of you got together!” Tooth asked. North nodded enthusiastically in response to her exclamation. Suddenly Pitch understood why the young man was unwilling to discuss the matter. 

Instead of blushing about as madly as Jack, Pitch couldn’t help but let loose an uncharacteristically devious chuckle. That seemed to make the group go quiet and stare at him, leaving Jack to turn around and continue his work. Pitch had caught the smile on his partner’s face before he’d turned away, however, and he couldn’t help but want to make him smile like that again.

“Say, Pitch,” North said, breaking the awkward silence that had ensued, “we’re having another meeting of the artists soon. Care to join us this time? We could use a fresh mind.”

Pitch kept himself from snorting at that. He would hardly call his mind fresh. All they’d be getting is a macabre mind by inviting him to give input. He wasn’t sure they really wanted that. He glanced at Jack, then. An idea popped into his mind and before it could fully manifest, he said, “If I can bring a guest, I might.”

“I don’t see why not! Is the individual you’re thinking of an active artist?” Tooth asked.

“Or maybe experiencing a block?” North asked.

“Could it be that he’s standing right behind this counter?” Aster asked snidely.

Jack stared dumbly at his boss. “What?”

“Jack?” North asked, apparently unaware of Jack’s status as an artist.

“Jamie and the gang always talks about his work, but no one’s ever seen what he does,” Tooth added.

“I have. It ain’t half bad,” Aster said begrudgingly. “And he does most of his work on the clock if you ask me.”

“You guys realize I’m standing right here,” Jack declared.

“Well, I’ll attend one of these meetings if you attend with me,” Pitch addressed him.

Jack squinted. “This all feels like a trap.”

“Let’s face it: everything’s been complicated and trap-like from the moment he set foot in here,” Aster said, gesturing to Pitch.

Pitch adjusted his glasses, his smile widening. “So glad you think so highly of me.” Turning back to Jack, he asked, “Attending an artists’ gathering sound fun or no?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Jack said, “We’ll see.”

“Alright. In the meantime, are you ready to get going?”

“Been ready since the interrogation started,” Jack added with a grin of his own, preparing to leave.

Once everything was in order and they’d stepped outside, Pitch stopped to ask, “How terribly did they pester you?”

“Relentlessly. The only one not interested was Aster.”

“Clearly.” 

“I figured it wouldn’t be wise to tell them you chucked a trashcan at a car in my defense.”

Pitch laughed at that. “Wise decision, I suppose.” Looking in to see that Tooth and North were still watching them (like vultures looking for a quick meal, it was rather disturbing), Pitch uttered, “I’d rather like to give them something to talk about.”

Before the young man had time to protest, Pitch grabbed him by his scarf and pulled him in for a kiss. His lips lingered on Jack’s just the slightest bit longer than necessary to get the point across, but he didn’t feel Jack protest. In fact, he thought he heard the young man whimper once he pulled away. Their noses still touching, Pitch smiled at the dazed sigh that escaped through Jack’s lips. When his new partner’s eyes fluttered open, he was greeted with a brilliant blue gaze. “How do they look now?”

Pitch looked at their onlookers out of the corner of his eye, smile widening. “They’re ecstatic.”

“Good. That should give them plenty to talk about.”

“Agreed.”

Heading down the street towards his vehicle, which he’d retrieved from its resting place of the night before, Pitch felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Stopping to see what it was, he cursed himself for not turning the ringer on as soon as he was out of class. When he saw that he had a voicemail from Seraphina, his mind went on high alert. “Hold on a minute,” he half-murmured as he hit the button that dialed for voicemail. Punching in his password, he listened to the message as Jack stared at him in concern. When he heard his daughter’s plea for him to call him back, he dialed immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“It’s Sera,” he said. Was his voice trembling? His breathing was definitely uneven. “Something’s wrong. I can hear it in her voice.”

“Okay, whatever you do don’t panic,” Jack said, offering Pitch his hand.

Pitch let out a shaky breath, squeezing the palm that had been offered him. He found it reassuring despite his nerves. Counting the rings, he fished through his memory for Seraphina’s schedule. Was she in class? Did she have time to answer? If so, why wasn’t she? Was she injured? What happened? What went wrong?

This, of course, meant that when she finally answered with a timid voice, he almost shouted, “What’s wrong?”

“Please don’t shout, Dad. I’m not hurt.”

Softening his tone, he said, “You sound ill. Are you sick? Is everything alright? What happened?”

“Calm down, Dad. I need you calm,” she said. She sounded like she was in pain. What was happening? She said she wasn’t hurt. How is this not hurt?

“Seraphina, talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Stop asking me so many questions. I’m trying to find the words.”

Right. Words. Those were important. He didn’t realize just how much he was fidgeting until he was forced to remain silent and wait for her response. Shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times within the span of one minute, he wasn’t sure which was concerning him more: the labored breathing of his daughter or the look of anxiety on Jack’s pale face. The young man’s eyes had switched back to dark brown. That grabbed Pitch’s focus and held it for some reason. As if on cue, his partner squeezed his hand and whispered, “Is everything okay?”

Pitch shook his head to indicate he didn’t know just as Seraphina said, “I’m starting to remember what happened to Mom.”

Pitch froze completely. Even his heart seemed to stop. No. No, this was exactly what he had feared. “What?” he let out almost shakily.

“I don’t know how to deal with it, Dad,” she whispered. Her voice sounded broken. It pained him to hear her like this. Why couldn’t this have happened while she was here with him and not miles away? At least then he could do something, hold her hand, soothe her with his presence. How does one do all these things over the phone? “I’m having nightmares. Nightmares about the accident. I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until Jack drew closer to him. As if prompted by the young man’s worried facial expression, he asked, “Have you spoken to anybody about this?”

“No one certified. Just my roommate and Aster, but—.”

“Aster? Coffee shop Aster? Jack’s boss Aster?”

“Yeah, we’ve been talking off and on . . . Dad, focus. Worry about Aster later.”

Trying to reel his thoughts back in, he asked, “Why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as it started happening?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You’re already so busy with everything that you didn’t need me adding—.”

“Listen to me. You are never a burden. You haven’t been a burden in all the years you’ve been my daughter. Now please, tell me how I can help you—.”

“I don’t know.” She was crying. Dear God, she was crying and he had no idea what to do. Pitch looked about helplessly. He could handle wounds. He could handle fights. He could handle running from the police and battlefields and horror novel settings, but he couldn’t handle his daughter crying. He just couldn’t.

There was a shuffling and a crackling of the phone as it shifted to a different location. Before he knew to ask, a different female voice greeted him. “Mr. Pitchiner? Sera’s dad? How should I address you, exactly?”

“M-Mr. Black,” he managed past the lump forming in his throat.

“Mr. Black, this is Sera’s roommate Emmeline. She’s having a panic attack. I’m the one who told her to call you. I’m sorry, I thought it would help—.”

“Panic attack?” He had no experience with panic attacks. Not really, at least. He’d seen them, but had been mostly unable to help with them.

“Panic attack?” Jack repeated.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Black. I don’t really know what to do here,” Emmeline said over the phone.

“I can help,” Jack interrupted. Somehow Jack’s voice was what broke through Pitch’s addled thoughts. Staring at the young man, he saw his partner’s hand reach hesitantly for the phone.

“Hello?” Emmeline asked, like he wasn’t still on the line. It made sense. He hadn’t been able to formulate a response as of yet. The sound of his daughter crying all but made him shove the device into the hands on the one most likely to aid her.

He watched Jack like a hawk, listening and honing in on his every action. As Jack took the phone, he spoke into it, “Sera?” There was a pause as Emmeline reintroduced herself. “Cool. Thank you. Can you hand the phone to Sera, please . . . . Yeah, I think I got an idea of what to do . . . . Sera, can you hear me? . . . Alright, I’m going to need you to breathe. Inhale through the nose and count to ten, exhale through the mouth and count to seven. Keep doing this. Now, are you in a position that makes you feel safe? . . . Is there a way to make you feel safer? . . . Do that. Crawl under the covers, pile pillows on top of your head, just don’t smother yourself. That’s the opposite of good . . . . Yeah, I know. Sometimes we all need a cave to hide in. Okay, what were you doing when you started panicking? . . . Jesus, it’s been a while since I read that one. What part are you at? . . . I don’t remember that bit. Describe it . . . . So you haven’t gotten to the guy who’s obsessed with cheese yet? . . . That’s not much of a spoiler, I can assure you. Have you seen the Disney version of the book? . . . I kinda liked it, actually. It was cute, and Silver was awesome . . . . Yes I’m distracting you. What was your first clue? . . . Well, is it working? . . . Okay then. Let’s have some fun. What does Emmeline do that annoys you most? . . . What about him? . . . Ooo, I had a professor like that once. I wanted to punch her in the face. I was told that was illegal, though, so I didn’t go through with it . . . . Yes, you could say I’ve done this before. Now tell me about your classes . . . .” 

As Pitch listened to the conversation, he observed how Jack handled the situation. He was so calm, so collected. He had everything prepared. It was then that Pitch recalled that no, Jack hadn’t just done this before. He’d endured this sort of thing. Of course he had. Look at what had happened the night before, after the encounter with the men who’d harmed him. It should have been more obvious then to Pitch that Jack had some experience in this area.

By the time Jack got to talking Seraphina through the nightmare itself, Pitch could hear how her tone had changed. She was no longer crying and terrified. She was calm, almost positive about her experience. When she was ready to be handed back to her father, Jack did so without question. Taking the phone, Pitch asked, “Sera?”

“Hey.” Yes, she sounded so much better than she had mere moments ago. “Remind me to hug Jack the next time I see him.”

The relief that flooded Pitch could not be described in one sentence. “I’ll give him one right now.”

“You’d better.”

In the background, Pitch could hear Emmeline scream, “Keep him!”

“Yeah, what she said,” Seraphina agreed with her roommate.

“I intend to. Are you going to be alright?”

“I think so.”

“Please don’t hesitate to call again.”

“I won’t.”

“Perhaps you should see someone about this. Doesn’t your school have a counselor?”

“Yeah. I’ve been avoiding it. Don’t want a shrink.”

“Sometimes we need shrinks. I have a degree, I should know.”

She snorted. “I made my psychologist father panic with my own panic.”

“It’s different when those you love are going through something of that ilk.”

“Yeah, anyone else and you would’ve handled that like a pro.”

Maybe not as well as Jack handled it, he thought. Smiling, he said, “I love you, Seraphina. I’m going to get us home now.”

“Good. I’ll call you if something else comes up. I promise.”

“Good, and promise me you’ll explain you’re talking with Aster.”

She laughed. “I will, Dad. Rest assured, it’s nothing to concern yourself over.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not.” He glared at the sign for the coffee shop for good measure. He would just have to trust his daughter and his old colleague on this one.

“Don’t sound so diabolical, Dad. It really is just friendly conversation. Now go have some friendly conversation with your boyfriend.”

“Excuse me, what are you implying there?”

“I love you, Dad. Behave.” And just like that, she’d fallen right back into the role of parenting the parent.

Hanging up and sighing, he pocketed the phone. Without looking up, he pulled Jack into a tight hug. The young man made a surprised sound as Pitch crushed him to his chest and let himself breathe evenly for the first time since he’d heard the voicemail. After a moment of crushing the young man to him, Pitch whispered, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jack replied, his voice muffled by Pitch’s chest.

“You handled that like an expert.”

He could hear the sad note in Jack’s voice as he said, “I’ve been there before.”

Pitch didn’t ask. Not yet. Not while they were standing there out in the open. Passersby had already gotten quite a show from the two of them. Pitch understood if Jack didn’t want to relive his own anxieties right then. Instead, he released Jack, took him by the hand, and began leading him to the vehicle and to home.



Back home, Jack realized he probably owed Pitch an explanation over what sort of memories he could have that gave him enough experience in working with panic attacks and possible symptoms of PTSD. To Pitch’s infinite credit, he did not ask. He did not prompt. He didn’t bring it up at all. He left the ball in Jack’s court. So when Jack offered to make dinner, he took the opportunity to explain. This way, he was doing something constructive while he spoke and not sitting uncomfortably across from Pitch like it was a confrontation.

“I started having panic attacks after my family died.”

Pitch sat at the kitchen counter, watching Jack as he worked. “How did they die?”

“Boating accident. I should have been with them. Bounced from foster home to foster home after that.” He shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant as he flipped the pieces of pork in the frying pan. “I’ve dealt with spells ever since.”

“Do you remember why you weren’t with them?” he asked. His voice sounded calm, but his face read that he was legitimately concerned. Maybe he worried Jack would have an attack talking about this.

That was why he’d chosen to speak up while performing some activity instead of taking a moment to sit still and actually think about it. Answering honestly, Jack responded, “No. Some things you just don’t recall, I guess.”

Pitch’s chest heaved as he placed his head in his hands. After a moment of silence, he uttered. “She was so young. I was so hoping she wouldn’t remember.”

“That’s Murphy’s Law for ya,” Jack murmured.

“Murphy needs to either get out or pay rent,” Pitch grumbled. That actually made Jack chuckle, though he was certain he’d heard that particular phrase before. Then Pitch asked, “Do you remember anything of your family?”

Jack tilted his head as he continued cooking. “I remember my sister. I remember annoying her. That’s about it.” Before he could stop himself, he asked, “She’s remembering the accident that killed her mother?”

Pitch nodded. “It would’ve killed Sera too. By some miracle, she survived. I never had to serve time again.”

“Serve time . . . oh. Military.” Turning completely towards the other dishes, Jack uttered, “She must look like her mother. Couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t at first.” Pitch’s tone was so low Jack regretted making the comment. Yet Pitch continued, “Then I took it as a blessing.” With a quiet laugh, Pitch added, “We argued horribly over what to name Sera.”

“Really? What were the options?” Jack asked.

“I wanted to name her after her mother. Emily, her name was. Emily Jane. She thought that would be too confusing. I said it was no more confusing than if we’d named our fictitious son after me. Granted, I’d never name my son Kozmotis. That would have been cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I sincerely doubt that.”

“We settled for Seraphina Jane. It adhered to both of our wishes in a way.” As Jack continued cooking, he didn’t hear anything else come from Pitch. Focusing on the meal rather than the conversation, he was completely unprepared when a set of long arms wrapped around his small waist. As Pitch buried his face in Jack’s hair, Jack couldn’t help but smile at the contact. Something in his chest gave, and suddenly he forgot he was doing anything at all. Setting the cooking utensils down, he closed his eyes and held onto the arms wrapped so firmly around him. The passion and the heat of the night before had been wonderful and exciting, but this . . . this was comforting and beautiful. Allowing himself to fall back against Kozmotis Pitchiner, he let out a shaky breath and appreciated the way the older man’s hold on him tightened. Everything in him seemed to cease working when he heard Pitch whisper, “I think I love you.”

Eyes slowly opening, Jack couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Did you just say what I think you just said?”

Pitch stiffened. “Too soon?”

After a moment, Jack’s heart began galloping. With a smile, he turned around in Pitch’s arms and placed his hands on the man’s shoulders. “No. It’s never too soon.” And with that, he kissed Pitch’s forehead. Planting another kiss on his cheek, he then moved to kiss him on the lips. Pitch welcomed the contact, deepening the kiss before pulling back. With a smile, Jack said, “Now get out of the kitchen before you make me burn dinner.”

Pitch laughed and obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Lent guys! I drank five cups of tea last night and this happened!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Pitch have a day off. So what do they do on their days off? We'll see.
> 
> I made it to the deadline, and it's smutty as promised. Hope you enjoy!

Pitch had an unnerving habit of watching Jack sleep. After long nights of working on their separate projects and telephone conversations with Sera and her roommate, it was a wonder they got up for work at all. This was not one of those days, however. Both of them had a day off, and it was lovely because Pitch took this opportunity to let Jack rest and watch him as he did so.

As a child, Sera had been convinced that her father’s habit of watching people sleep made him a boogeyman of sorts. As she had grown, she had traded the term boogeyman for creeper. She had never had any reservations about calling her father a creeper at random, which made him wonder how on earth Jack had put up with him for this long already. Jack didn’t seem to mind him at all.

Sera had been doing better lately. She was more open about her panic attacks, and was even seeing someone about her insomnia. Pitch was thankful Sera had such a healthy roommate, who did everything in her power to keep Sera going in Pitch’s stead. It had bothered him at first, but he eventually found it rather reassuring. It was almost as reassuring as Jack’s ability to communicate with Sera during one of her episodes. 

Sliding a hand from under the covers, Pitch combed his fingers through Jack’s dark hair. Pitch can remember being accused of finding excuses to touch Jack by North at one of the artist meetings. He had no right to deny it. Sometimes he had a hard time believing the young man was real. They’d been at this for . . . months. It had actually been months. Pitch had almost forgotten to acknowledge how cold it was getting, walking outside with less than ideal clothing on for the weather. Jack would laugh at him when available to do so. It astounded Pitch how thin some of Jack’s winter clothes were. He wondered if the young man even felt the cold, honestly. Sometimes it seemed he did, but there had been times where he’d truly been oblivious to the temperature.

His mind wandered, venturing to the events at said meetings. They had not helped him quite as much as Jack had. It was amusing, really. While the others were interested in talking out their artistic blocks, Pitch tended to stew within his. It wasn’t so much a block as a vat, trapping him in boiling waters keeping him anxious until he returned to his computer. Talking about things did just that: made him feel anxious. He found that sitting on the couch beside Jack while the young man worked on something of his own was a better way to pull him out of the vat than sitting in a circle with his old colleagues while they spoke nonstop and showcased what they’d been working on.

However, their works were truly impressive. North’s carpentry was flawless, Toothiana’s paintings actually bore evidence of well thought-out designs, everything Aster did was unbelievable, and whatever Sanderson managed to accomplish was . . . interesting, to say the least. Pitch wasn’t quite sure what the man was trying to accomplish sometimes. He supposed if it worked in his head, then there was nothing to worry about. Jack had been reluctant to show his works at first. In fact, his hands had been shaking so much that his sketchbook had almost fallen from his grasp. After one slight slip, he’d taken to cradling the thing to his chest like the images were going to come flying out of their own accord. After a bit of consolation from everyone, including some uncharacteristic encouragement from Aster and Pitch’s hand sliding over the young man’s knee (because speaking likely would have gotten Pitch in trouble, seeing as he’d planned to tell Jack what he’d accomplished couldn’t be worse than Sanderson’s), Jack loosened his grip.

“These are old sketches,” Jack had uttered nervously as he passed the book to Toothiana. He had trusted her to look through it carefully. Understandably so. Her artistic field required a certain amount of delicacy. Once the book was out of his hands, Jack wrapped both palms around the one on his knee, nearly crushing Pitch’s digits. Pitch didn’t mind, though.

The others were quiet for a moment as they flipped through his work. It was Toothiana who had spoken up first. “Jack, this is . . . .”

“Amazing,” North had finished.

Pitch slid closer to one of his colleagues, his hand still encased in both of Jack’s. Jack looked to be in a state of shock, and Pitch couldn’t resist looking at the images that had caught the others’ attention. They were looking at a frontal view of a busy coffee shop. Aster’s shop, in fact. The first image was a simple pencil drawing. The next was a colored pencil duplicate. The last of the coffee shop trilogy was almost a form of poetry, the lines that had once defined the shop and its customers turned into words. The words weren’t so much sentences coming together to form a story as various emotions that parts of the building gave off, feelings the customers were experiencing upon entry, purchase, and exit. While the others seemed more interested in the ornately detailed colored pencil drawing, the word art was what drew Pitch’s attention.

“This style is almost a science. It’s practically math,” Aster had said.

“I . . . didn’t use any math,” Jack had said with a slight blush. 

“Impressive. Very impressive,” North had said while Sanderson had given the young man a thumbs-up. 

“I will pay you for prints of these,” Aster had said, gesturing to the pictures of the shop.

“I don’t know how to make prints . . . .”

“I can show you. If you’re interested,” Toothiana had offered. 

Jack had been in shock for days. To some extent, he was still in shock of everyone’s acceptance and appreciation of his art form.

Jack twisted in his sleep, bringing Pitch’s attention back to the present. A small whimper escaped the young man’s lips as his brow furrowed. Pitch reached up to smooth over the indentations in Jack’s forehead with his fingertips. The whimpers ceased and the twisting halted, but Pitch wondered what was going through Jack’s mind. It didn’t seem pleasant, and frankly it concerned him. The young man stirred once more, his eyes blinking open for a moment before squeezing shut again. After a few brief moments where Jack fought to go back to sleep, it seemed he’d given up. He stretched, arching his back in a way that made Pitch forget what he’d been thinking about almost completely. As Jack settled back down in a more relaxed position, Pitch couldn’t help but imagine how on earth he could make Jack arch upward like that again.

Opening his eyes and looking at the clock, he turned his head back to Pitch. Squinting, he asked, “How long have you been awake?”

“I haven’t been watching the time.” That was a lie. He’d been up for about an hour and a half at least. Still, the fact that he didn’t have a solid handle on the exact moment he’d set to watching Jack sleep was rather unlike him.

“Have you gotten up at all? No tea, no nothing?”

Pitch shook his head. “I’ve just been here.”

Jack smiled and stretched again, causing Pitch to pay a little more attention to the young man’s body than he usually did. “Such a stalker. One day I’m gonna wake up and punch you and it won’t be on purpose, I hope you know.”

Pitch chuckled, his eyes lingering on the lean muscles of Jack’s arms. “I believe you.” His fingertips trailed absently over the underside of Jack’s forearm, caressing the skin ever-so-gently.

Jack shivered at the touch before rolling over onto his side to face Pitch. “You’re frisky this morning, aren’t you?”

Pitch raised an eyebrow. “This constitutes as frisky?”

“For you, yes.”

“Hmm,” Pitch hummed, giving Jack a onceover. Jack’s expression turned bashful. They still hadn’t taken things much further than kissing, groping, and similar activities. Pitch had maintained his composure for the most part, respecting Jack’s boundaries. However, “If you arch your back again, I may be inclined to get even friskier.”

Jack’s cheeks were red, but his eyes were blue. A shy smile lit upon his lips and Pitch wanted very much to taste them. Before he did, though, Jack shifted back onto his back and stretched one more time. His gaze was inviting. His bent spine was . . . enticing. Everything about him made Pitch breathless in one singular moment. Sliding halfway on top him, Pitch cradled the nape of Jack’s neck in his hand as he pulled the young man’s head up and pressed their lips together. Jack moaned as Pitch worked his jaw and slipped his tongue between Jack’s lips. Jack’s hands went to Pitch’s waist, wrapping around and wandering over the older man’s back muscles. Pitch experienced a brief loss of control and ground his hips against Jack, and suddenly the young man’s back was arching upwards again. Pitch stopped moving and pulled back slightly in an effort to calm himself before pressing onward and possibly making Jack uncomfortable, though he most certainly would pay for it. He was certain his pajama bottoms displayed the beginnings of a tent.

Apparently, he was not the only sufferer. Between their erratic gasps, Pitch could hear Jack whisper, “Keep going.”

Well, if he insists . . . .



Jack was two steps away from hyperventilating. He simply was not getting enough oxygen to his brain. No, not with Pitch smothering his lips the way he was. Forget the lips, actually. It was Pitch’s full weight on top of him that was doing most of the smothering. Jack had had one last rational thought informing him that they should slow down, but later he would suspect his ignorance of further rationalization might have been caused by the rush of blood _away_ from his brain. Yes indeed, that had to be the true cause of this dilemma. 

If he’d complained, Pitch would stop immediately. He had no intentions of complaining, though. Pitch’s hips drove into Jack’s, the older man’s knees parting the younger man’s legs. Jack gasped as Pitch continued thrusting, and suddenly there was a hand slipping beneath the young man’s waistband. Long fingers grazed his member and suddenly he was pretty sure he was experiencing a heart attack but damn, what a way to go. The large hand wrapped around him, but didn’t move. It didn’t need to. Jack was already moving his hips into the hand.

A dark chuckle made him grind to a halt and shiver, not from fear but from anticipation. “Who’s frisky now?”

“Timing, Pitch,” Jack huffed out. Did he have to choose now to get sarcastic?

“Careful. You might hurt yourself,” Pitch teased.

“I’m not,” huff, “hurting myself,” huff, “so please . . . don’t stop.”

“Hmm. Let’s see, now,” Pitch slid down the length of Jack’s body, pulling down Jack’s bottoms as he went. Jack’s eyes shot wide open at his nakedness, but he felt oddly comfortable. That tended to happen with Pitch around.

Jack had to stop himself from screaming as Pitch’s breath heated the tip of his member. Jack cursed. When the other man’s tongue came in contact with Jack, the young man sucked in an unrealistic amount of air and was forced to cover his mouth lest he alert the neighboring tenants to their activities. Of all times for it to occur to him, he’d never actually noticed any neighboring tenants. Of course, Pitch probably could have killed them all and he wouldn’t be the least bit concerned because the man’s mouth was on his—

“Pitch!” Jack cried as Pitch took Jack’s entirety into his mouth and sucked. “Oh God! Holy shit!” Jack couldn’t control his vocalizations any longer as Pitch went down on him full force. Jack was seeing stars by the time he’d let out another series of exclamations. Pitch’s hands went from gripping Jack’s thighs to fingering a particular spot below where most of the action was taking place. Suddenly Jack forgot all about seeing stars. Instead, he was seeing galaxies and constellations. “Fuck!” Jack shouted as he lost control of the tension that had built up in the pit of his gut and spilled his seed into Pitch’s mouth. No matter how wonderful the feeling was, it dawned on him what had just happened. Jack froze. “Oh my God.”

“Hm?”

“Pitch?”

“What?” Pitch also froze, pausing in the middle of crawling back up Jack’s body. “Too far?”

After a moment of panic, Jack’s muscles unlocked and he relaxed. For the life of him, he could figure out what he was about to say. That should bother him. This should bother him. Everything about this scenario should bother him, but the unfinished thoughts refused to finish themselves and he found himself surprisingly . . . content. Laying his head back on the pillow, he let out a long sigh. Then he remembered Pitch had asked him a question. “No. No, not too far.”

Pitch crawled up to lie beside him. “You’re certain.”

Jack looked at him, and was sad to see him look so worried. He looked like he was afraid that he’d lost Jack’s trust. A comforting smile spread across Jack’s lips, however. “I am. It’s okay.”

Pitch remained stiff for a moment before relaxing. When he finally relaxed, he leaned in to kiss Jack. Jack almost cringed at the taste on Pitch’s tongue. When he pulled away, he expected Pitch to get offended. Instead, Pitch responded with a chuckle. That was a relief. “What’s the matter? Don’t like the way you taste?”

“Sorry, it’s just . . . new. And weird. And shouldn’t I be . . . you know?” Jack gestured to Pitch, fumbling for words as his face flushed. The more he struggled for words, the more awkward he felt. “Should I be . . .,” he started again, “reciprocating?”

“Do you want to?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” Jack felt awful that that was his answer, but he honestly didn’t know. There were too many thoughts and suggestions going through his mind, too many voices in his head telling him to climb on top of Pitch, reach into his pants, touch, taste, feel. Jack let out another huff, realizing just how wonderful and confusing and embarrassing all those thoughts seemed to him at once.

“You don’t have to, you know,” Pitch offered with a placating smile.

“I don’t?”

Pitch’s brow furrowed. “Absolutely not.” 

“You mean they won’t . . . turn blue or anything?”

“No. That’s just a ridiculous myth some idiot said to get someone into bed with him. Nothing turns blue. I can assure you.” Jack snickered. He didn’t know why, but the option of not doing anything comforted him. It made him feel less obligated to act, he supposed. Pitch turned concerned again, asking, “But you did enjoy it?”

Jack’s smile was genuine. “Yes. A lot. Maybe too much.”

“No such thing as enjoying something too much,” Pitch said. The tension between them dissolved as soon as Pitch rested a hand on Jack’s chest. Jack slid closer to the older man, snuggling up against him. Closing his eyes, he forgot his own nudity as Pitch pulled the covers over both of them. He relaxed in Pitch’s arms, weariness sneaking over him. Was it normal to be tired after that? He supposed so. He was coming down from a high of sorts after all. Then something buzzed. “What’s that?”

It took Jack a moment to realize what it was. “I think it’s my phone.” Reaching for the nightstand, he grabbed the thing and flipped it open without looking at who was calling first. “Hello?”

Suddenly, Sera’s all too cheery voice rang out, “Good morning, starshine. Aster and I were wondering what you were wearing?”

Jack didn’t even know how to begin to address that statement. “D-do what now?”

“Are you naked? You must be naked.”

“B-but why are you talking to—?”

“See, Aster and I have a bet going. Thought I’d let you in on it, since you’re the one in control of this relationship with my dear old father—.”

“Wait, what bet?” Jack was steadily growing more and more confused, face reddening even more.

“—Aster seems to think you’ll make the first move. Is that true? Come on, Jackie boy. You can tell me.”

“Do you even know how awkward this is?”

“Hella.”

“Then why—?”

“Come on, man, you can’t let Aster win.”

“Sera, really—?”

It was then that Pitch took the phone out of Jack’s hand. His whole demeanor changed when he was on the phone with Sera. It was almost like being a father required a whole new mode, and he was stepping into that mode as he addressed his daughter. “Sera, Jack’s occupied at the moment. Is everything alright?”

Suddenly there was a high-pitched squeal which forced Pitch to pull the phone away from his ear. Jack could vaguely make out the words, “I knew it!” before there was a click and the call ended.

There was a pause before Pitch leaned over Jack and set his phone back on the table. “How does she know these things?” he grumbled.

“I don’t know, but she needs to share her secrets.” Pitch’s grin forced Jack to smile too. “I was gonna go back to sleep, but I don’t foresee that happening.”

“Oddly, neither do I,” Pitch admitted.

“You make the tea, I’ll get laptop and sketchbook set up?”

Pitch nodded happily. “It’s a good day to work.”

As they got up, Jack uttered, “You said it, Koz.” After a moment, he froze again and realized he’d called Pitch by a different name. He stiffened, then turned to look at Pitch. The man looked taken aback by the used of that name. Jack jumped to correct himself, “I’m so—.”

“No,” Pitch stopped him. Drawing closer to Jack across the bed, Pitch kissed Jack fiercely. This time, Jack didn’t mind the taste as much. When Pitch pulled away, Jack was breathless and suddenly hyperaware of how naked and how close they were again and all the thoughts came buzzing back to fog over his thoughts. Then Pitch whispered, “You can call me Koz.”

Jack didn’t know how to respond. He felt like he’d just been given something precious and the only thing he could splutter out was, “Okay.” How embarrassing. It was more embarrassing than his fevered thoughts. It was more embarrassing than that one customer at the coffee shop who could only respond to one of his boyfriend’s tirades with the word ‘neat.’ Jack identified with that man. He identified with that man on a spiritual level all of a sudden. He shouldn’t complain, though. There were love stories based around couples who only said ‘okay’ to one another. Jack felt silly, but he found himself whispering, “I love you.”

Pitch . . . no, Koz. Koz whispered back, “I love you, too.”

Jack could think himself silly all he wanted, but he hoped he never stopped feeling light at the utterance of those words. The day he did would be devastating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, Sera is my spirit animal and pretty much jumps in and inspires me at all the right times. Bless her. Bless her face with God's grace.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who know me, you've heard this before: it takes me a while to write porn.
> 
> But here it is.
> 
> Sweet, glorious pr0n.
> 
> And there's more to come.

“You got those prints?”

He’d almost dropped them on the way there. In a puddle. A deep puddle. “Yeah! Yeah, here.”

“Thanks man.” A few moments later, Aster asks, “Something troubling you mate?”

“Nope. Nah. I’m good.” Not troubling. His thoughts weren’t troubling at all. Nor were they annoying, distracting, or, shall we say, invigorating. “Nope. I’m good.”

After several incidents where he dropped things he normally would not drop, Aster asked, “Kid, are you sick? What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just clumsy . . . I guess.” Because in his mind he’d tripped and fallen and wound up naked in Koz’s bed.

Boy, did he have some heated words for Koz when he got back to the apartment.

On the walk back to their apartment, Jack reordered and rethought each sentence he was going to say. He mentally worked out a script of what was going to happen as soon as he opened the door and confronted Koz. However, as soon as he stepped into the apartment, the script went out the window. He’d forgotten every single word he was going to say.

Koz looked up from his laptop and tea as soon as Jack burst through the door. For a moment, they just stared at one another with blank expressions. Then Koz uttered, “Yes?”

Jack would have given anything to remember what it was he was going to say to Koz. One sentence. One word. Anything but the question that came out of his mouth instead. “What the fuck?”

Koz blinked, head rocking back at an odd angle indicating his surprise. “Was I supposed to pick you up after work?”

“No, it’s . . . I . . .,” he made a weird noise as he blew air through his lips, trying to figure out what he was getting at. Then he settled for, “You’ve been distracting me at work. All day.”

Koz tilted his head. “Have I? I’ve been here this whole time. How could I?”

Jack’s face turned bright red. No. Koz was _not_ doing this. “Don’t play dumb, you know what.”

Koz legitimately looked confused now. “Are you certain? I’m not wholly sure I know what I’ve done—oh.” A light seemed to go off in his brain as Jack’s gaze narrowed. “That.”

“Yeah. That.” Jack hung up his coat, gloves, and scarf, then kicked off his boots. “I haven’t dropped so many cups and ingredients since my first week of work.” Koz’s expression turned devious. Jack’s face only heated more under that gaze. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?” How could he manage to sound so oblivious with such a face?

“Stop . . . thinking. I can hear you. I swear.” Jack moved into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge to distract himself. He wondered why people did that. Why did they go to the refrigerator as soon as they didn’t know what else to do? He knew it wasn’t an isolated incident. He’d heard of and seen plenty of people do just this.

He hadn’t been leaning over that much, but when he stood back upright after scanning the contents of the fridge, his back slammed into a hard, lean chest. He gasped as an arm linked around his waist while another hand shut the refrigerator door. “Tell me what I was thinking.”

Jack couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe properly, let alone speak. “I . . .,” he tried, but choked on his words as Koz’s hand slid over his chest to feel his heaving lungs. He shook his head.

“Then I suppose I better enlighten you.” Koz’s voice was little more than a whisper as the hand on Jack’s waist slid under his shirt. Jack shivered at the touch. “I was thinking of just how lovely your arse is. To have seen you bending over to retrieve fallen objects would have been quite an enjoyable experience, in my opinion.” Koz placed a hot kiss on the back of Jack’s neck, and the young man just about melted into his partner’s touch. Koz's free hand slid down Jack's torso to cup the growing bulge in the young man's trousers. Jack let out a gasp that he honestly should have been ashamed of. “So what else do you have to do today?”

It took Jack a moment to realize that was a question that required an answer. “N-nothing.”

“No club tonight?”

“Uh-uh.” Koz chuckled, his breath tickling Jack's ear.

“Hmm, then let's create another distraction for you, shall we?” He licked a stripe up the back of Jack's neck, his tongue hot and his teeth threatening to take a bite out of the younger man. Jack could formulate no intelligible response that didn't involve his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Without warning, Koz started pushing and pulling him towards the counter and before Jack knew it he was bent over it with the older man's hands sliding his shirt up over his head. Large hands spread over his spine, sending shiver over his back. “Now let's get a look at this arse of yours.” A hand slid down his back to cup said ass and Jack found himself breathing hard enough that the counter-top was fogging over from his breath. “Hmm, as I suspected. Lovely.” Then Koz replaced his hand with his hips and started grinding against Jack. Gripping the counter's edge, Jack let a rather embarrassing noise slip past his lips as Koz's hips moved slowly at first. When they sped up, he had to bite his knuckles to keep himself from crying out. “Oh no,” Koz uttered against his back, reaching up to pull the hand away from his mouth, “don't cover up that beautiful mouth of yours.”

Jack obeyed, expecting the hand to return to his back. Instead, it slid to the fly of his jeans, undoing them and letting them fall to his knees. Jack's eyes widened as his pants joined his trousers at his knees, unsure of what to expect. His cheeks flushed as he felt his member bobbing in the open air and it dawned on him that he was a few steps away from completely naked. His breaths got shorter suddenly. “Koz?”

“Yes, Jack?”

He didn't know what he was asking much less how he was going to ask it. Clamming up, he closed his eyes and said, “Nothing.”

That didn't satisfy Koz, however. “Are you uncomfortable?”

Jack shook his head. “Not yet. I'm just . . . nervous.”

Koz kissed the back of his neck again. “Good.”

Brow furrowed, Jack asked, “Why?”

“I'd be concerned if you weren't. This is sort of a big deal.” That succeeded in making Jack smile. “Before I continue, do you have any requests?”

Jack thought about it before settling on, “Surprise me.”

That elicited a rather dark chuckle from Koz that should have made him worried but instead it turned him on even more. Kicking Jack's legs a little further apart, Koz started grinding into him again. Jack could very clearly make out a bulge in Koz's pants, and the idea of what he could do to him while he was in such a vulnerable position . . . oh, he should be gripping the counter in terror but instead he was praying for said things to transpire.

Again without a lick of warning, Koz pulled Jack off the counter-top and spun him around to face the older man. Lifting him up by his thighs, the rest of Jack's clothing fell off as Koz set him on the counter and spread his knees apart. Stepping between them, he pressed his bulge against Jack's member and proceeded to rock his hips at a much quicker pace. Jack cried out, wrapping his arms around Koz's neck for support. One hand on his back, the other on a thigh, Koz buried his lips in Jack's neck and Jack had to ball his fists into Koz's hair to make sure he didn't fall over from overstimulation. Squeezing his eyes shut, he let out a scream as Koz sank his teeth into the younger man's neck. Without a second thought, Jack unclenched one of his hands to drag nails over Koz's shoulder. With the way Koz growled into his neck and bit harder, Jack would say the man was a masochist.

Well, he would say it if he could. For now, he was reduced to outcries of pleasure as one of Koz's large hands reached down to free his own member. The first moment Koz thrust his bare skin against Jack's, Jack let loose a cry so loud that any one of their neighbors could have heard it and made a noise report. That was when Koz's lips covered his at last, tongue invading Jack's mouth in ways that reminded him just what that tongue was capable of. The same hand that had freed Koz's bulge then started pumping both of their members together and it wasn't long till Jack was overwhelmed and unable to function. His mouth gaped as he attempted to tell Koz he was coming, but his body reacted quicker than his vocal chords and soon the stuff was spilling between them without his consent. Koz's own orgasm followed soon after, his body going slack against Jack's as he leaned his forehead against the younger man's.

They stayed in that position for a moment before Koz reached for some paper towels to clean themselves up. Well, he managed to clean Jack up easily. He elected to take his soon to be stained shirt off and toss it in the laundry bin, giving Jack a wonderful view of his torso. Sliding off the counter-top, he had to take a moment to balance himself. He hadn't realized this sort of activity could render his legs temporarily useless. Koz saw his hunched-over position and asked, “Are you alright?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah, just . . . getting my shit together.” Koz laughed at the idiom, picking up Jack's pants and trousers to hand to him. Taking the articles of clothing, he let out a whoosh of air. “Yeah, that's gonna be distracting my next shift.”

Koz grinned devilishly. “Good. Very good.” He paused, as if deliberating on whether or not he was going to ask the next question. Jack pulled on his underwear and jeans, waiting for Koz to say what he needed to. By the time he was able to speak, he was the one blushing. “Would you be interested in . . . other such activities?”

Jack gave him a mischievous grin. “Well, if it's anything like these past two times, absolutely.”

“I'm thinking of something a little more . . . invasive.”

It took Jack several moments before he understood. “Oh.” Gulping, he thought about it. Remembering how he felt while they were in the act, he couldn't deny the desire had crossed his mind. “I . . . umm,” now both of them were red in the face. Scratching the back of his head, he looked up at Koz bashfully. “I'm willing to try it.”

Koz relaxed. “And you'll tell me if you change your mind?”

Jack nodded, rolling his eyes. “Of course I will. You should know that by now.”

“I just need to make sure, love,” he said, placing a kiss on Jack's forehead. Jack smiled. Then Koz's eyes widened. “Idea!” Just like that, he was running back to his laptop.

Jack laughed. “You just pulled a North.” This brought out a small smile in the author as he started furiously typing. “Want some tea to go with that idea?”

“Uh . . . huh,” he murmured, Jack taking that as a yes. And that was about as much response he was going to get out of the man until he finished putting down his idea.

:)

Two frustrated professors and a pair of bickering sisters later, Aster was ready to quit and this was his own business. Throwing in the towel, he called it a night. It was then that his cell phone rang. He recognized the number just from the area code. Grinning, he answered with an, “Ready to pay up yet, young lady?”

“Yeah,” the word was long and drawn out, making her sound like the asshole manager from _Office Space_ , “I'm gonna need you to cough up the goods.”

Aster's head tilted upright. “You've confirmed this?”

“I have my ways of knowing, you see. I'm quite the magical girl, and it's your turn to interrogate. You'll see just how right I am.”

“You know, why did I bother entering into this game with you if you were gonna call all the right answers?” He knew why. He enjoyed talking to her. As did Sandy, who had also begun to join in their conversations and bets.

“You like it, and you're worried. I know you are. I'm an expert on spotting worry.”

He grinned harder. “I imagine so. You're dad's quite the worrywart himself.”

“You have no idea. Anyways, I leave it up to you. Let me know what you find out.”

“Hey,” he stopped her from hanging up, “we never actually discussed payment.”

She giggled on the other end. “I win, you owe me one of your special Christmas drinks. You win, I'll . . . do something.”

His turn to laugh. “Ah yeah, how about if I win you learn how to make those Christmas drinks and help me and Jack through the season. Until you go back, at least.”

“Done deal.” He could hear the smile in her voice as they hung up.

Pocketing his phone, he picked up the prints Jack had given him. Smiling at the newly framed images, he set to work making space for them on his walls.


	14. Chapter 14

The holidays were fast approaching, and neither Jack nor Pitch knew how to prepare for them. Sera did, however, which was completely expected. She was more than excited to have another person to shop for and had been begging her father for information. She fully intended to be present for their first Christmas together. Aster had even asked all three of them to accompany him, North, Toothiana, Sandy, and their families to a private celebration at the coffee shop on Boxing Day.

If Koz—Pitch, his name was still Pitch, dammit even he was correcting himself—was being honest, he was a little more than overwhelmed. Jack somehow knew what he needed to unwind, though, as he so often did. It was ridiculous, really, how capable Jack was of looking out for both him and Sera when things got a little too crazy for even them. But when Jack was working (which was often) Pitch found himself guzzling pot after pot of tea just to stay relaxed. He didn't know how to buy for someone not Seraphina. She had been the primary focus of his life for so long that having another person close to him was hard to comprehend. And being the perfectionist that he was, he didn't want to disappoint.

One night, when Jack was working at the Moon Clipper and Seraphina should have been studying, he wound up on the phone with her. “I have no idea what to get him.”

“He's an artist. It can't be that hard to find him something at the art department of any store in town,” she told him.

“I have a distinct feeling you've already raided the art stores near you for his present.”

She snorted. “You caught me.”

“Besides, I want it to be . . . I don't know. Special.” He drummed his fingers on the edge of his laptop, eyes scanning the novel he'd been working on since arriving in Burgess. The only thing that his eyes translated from screen to mind however was the word count: thirty-three thousand plus. While others might find that number to be significantly large, for him it wasn't enough. “How does one buy for a significant other nowadays?”

“Hang on, I'll ask Em.” He was about to tell her no, that wasn't necessary when he heard her barely audible question, “Hey Em, what's that professor getting the other professor for Christmas?”

He heard her roommate pause before saying, “That's not very specific, Sera. Which professor?”

“That forgetful one. Doesn't he have a younger professor as a boyfriend or something?”

“Oh. I don't know. Something he likes. Why?”

“Dad needs to get something for Jack.”

“Sera,” Pitch tried to interrupt, “this isn't really nece—.”

“Tell him to just pay attention to what Jack likes and go on that. It sounds more difficult than it actually is, I know, but it works,” Em told Sera before he could finish.

Then Sera addressed him, “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” he said. 

“There you have it! Do the thing!” Before she continued on to the next subject, she asked, “I could always ask Aster to figure something out for you.”

“Aster?” Pitch squinted. “Just how often are you talking to him?”

She let out a high pitched sigh that sounded very suspicious to her father. “Once . . . every two days?”

“Seraphina Pitchiner, do you think it's appropriate for you to be speaking with someone _I_ went to school with that often?”

“Bit of an odd question for you to be asking me, don't you think Dad?”

Pitch bit his lip. “You're my daughter. I tend to see things a bit differently where you're concerned.”

“And I'm saying you don't need to be concerned. For one, you are in a relationship with someone only a couple years older than me—.”

“I can assure you, I do not need to be reminded of how unconventional that is.”

“Two, my dearest father, there is nothing romantic going on between Bunny and I.”

Pitch straightened up. “Bunny?”

“Oh, yeah. That's what I call him when I feel like grating his nerves. It annoys him more than calling him Edgar Aster.”

Pitch shook his head and raised his eyebrows. “Alright. I won't question it any further. If it's as simple and innocent as you say, then I have nothing to worry about.”

“You're taking the Dad tone with me again.”

“I still have that right.”

“I know.” She made a strange noise with her lips that made him chuckle. “For a moment I was afraid you'd try and tell me men and women can't be friends.”

It was Pitch's turn to snort. “You know very well that anyone who tells you that is narrow-minded and not to be trusted.”

“Or ignorant. Ignorance is a possibility.”

“That's my girl.”

“So tell me one thing, father mine.”

“What?”

“Is Jack's butt nice?”

Pitch almost dropped the phone and he could hear Sera's roommate's loud laughter. When he composed himself enough to exclaim, “Seraphina!” his daughter was laughing too.

“What?! I have a right to know!”

He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. “I worry for you. I worry for you often.” Changing the subject, he asked, “How are the anxiety attacks? Are you sleeping well?”

“I'm up to four or six hours a night depending on how much studying I have to do.”

“And the panic attacks?”

“Fewer and farther in between, now tell me about his butt.”

Pitch sighed. “It's nice. Okay? Satisfied?”

“Good enough I suppose.” She also sighed. Moments like these, she sounded very much like him. “The nightmares aren't too bad anymore. That helps with the sleeping. Em's taking care of me.”

“Thank her again for me. Now go study.”

She huffed. “If you insist.”

He smiled as they hung up, and Pitch tried to resume editing. Thanks to Sera, however, he was now thinking of Jack's arse. Wonderful.

:)

Jack had told Koz not to worry about picking him up after work. He sort of missed walking home alone, so he decided to do just that. It was much further than before, but not impossible. He had shortcuts.

He looked both ways, preparing to cross the street when a hand fell on his shoulder. He jumped, fist raised like he was going to throw a punch until he saw who was stopping him. His eyes widened and his jaw went slack. Hands coming to rest at his sides, he stared back at the familiar face in disbelief. “Hiccup?”

The other man's face lit up. “It _is_ you!” He looked way more excited than Jack felt. “I almost didn't recognize you.”

It took Jack a moment to get himself into gear enough to respond. Half-smiling, he said, “Well, I don't exactly have white hair anymore.”

“Yeah! You look almost normal.”

“And you're,” Jack fumbled for a good word, “really tall suddenly. What, did you have a late growth spurt?”

Hiccup scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, a bit. Dad couldn't be happier. He was afraid I'd be a sarcastic fish bone forever.”

“Wow!” Jack tried not to think about the last time he'd seen them, or the time before that for that matter. It only saddened him. He really just wanted to go home, actually. “I'm,” he struggled to find a way out of talking to Hiccup without sounding rude, “I'm actually headed back to our . . . my apartment.”

“Cool cool. Wait,” Hiccup squinted. “Our?”

“Yeah,” the word came out slow and unnatural.

“Roommate or girlfriend?”

Jack puffed out his cheeks like a fish. “Not . . . not girlfriend.”

Hiccup's eyes widened. “But you _are_ in a relationship?” Jack didn't get the chance to answer. Hiccup raised his hands in triumph and shouted, “Finally!” Jack's face reddened as Hiccup clapped him on the shoulder. “Glad to hear it, man!”

“Yeah. Yeah, it's great.” He smiled at the thought of Koz. “He's great.”

“Do I know her-him, I mean?”

Jack squinted, looking up as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe. I don't know.” He quickly tried to change the subject, continuing walking. Hiccup followed, though, so he fumbled for words. “How . . . how are you and Astrid?”

“Great, actually. She's going into teaching, believe it or not.”

Jack smirked. “No, I don't believe it.” Not one bit. Teaching required patience, and Astrid was not a patient woman. Hiccup had been so nervous around her that she'd actually made all the first moves on him. It had been hilarious to watch, really. At the time that is. Now it only succeeded in making Jack sad because of the years he'd missed. But Hiccup was here now, making an effort. The least Jack could do was return the effort. “What about you?”

“Ah, engineering. I think I'm the only one working in the field they went to school for.”

“Really? Not even Eugene?”

“Unfortunately there isn't much in the way of a career for writers.”

“That's funny,” Jack uttered, genuinely amused. “I'm actually dating a rather popular writer.”

“Popular, huh? Can I try and guess?”

Jack smiled. It was an old game of theirs, one he'd enjoyed. “Sure.”

“Cool, what genre?”

“Suspense.”

“Ooo.” Hiccup pondered for a moment. Then he began listing off authors. One after another, Jack shook his head. After about four guesses, Hiccup asked, “When was their last work published?”

“Last year, I think. I don't really know a date, but he's working on something now.”

Hiccup's brow furrowed. “Astrid's been reading a lot lately. I'm trying,” he scratched his forehead, “I'm trying to remember a name. Pit? Pit Black?”

“Pitch Black,” Jack corrected.

Hiccup's eyes widened. “No way.” Jack nodded. “No way!” Jack blushed hard. “I don't believe you.”

“Believe it.”

“Oh my God!” Hiccup cried. “Astrid's read, like, all of his books I think!”

“She's better than me. I don't think I've read any of them. Maybe one.”

“Damn. You're already a bad boyfriend.” Before Jack realized what he was doing, he playfully punched Hiccup in the arm. He was about to apologize, but Hiccup reacted just as he used to: exclaiming 'hey' and lightly punching back. It felt . . . good. It felt really good. Like old times. “What's it like, living with that sort of novelist?”

“He's addicted to tea and sometimes doesn't sleep. It's funny, actually. I think the tea makes him rabid sometimes.”

“Caffeine will do that.”

“Hey you!” a voice called from ahead. Jack looked up and froze. Hiccup froze beside him.

Jack hadn't realized how far they'd walked or where they were until the voice drew his attention away from the conversation. The first thing Jack noticed was their location: a dark, cold alley with no exits or turns to take before the individual who had spoken reached them. That was the second thing Jack noticed: the individual. At first, Jack had no idea who'd called out to them, or him rather. With a little bit of squinting, however, suddenly Jack's eyes were wide and the hair on his body was standing up. No. Jack had thought he was done with these guys. Wait, where were the others?

“It's him, alright,” another voice came from behind, answering Jack's inwardly directed question. And the others were close. Had they been following them the whole time? How had that slipped Jack's notice? He'd been too focused on speaking to Hiccup, he guessed. He berated himself. Now they were both in trouble.

“You're the little shit who destroyed my car!” another voice declared.

“Is that true?” Hiccup whispered. Jack quickly shook his head. Hiccup didn't look like he believed him, even though it was completely truthful. Jack really hadn't been the one to toss the garbage can onto the windshield. He wasn't about to say who had, however.

“I think it's time to teach him a lesson.”

Jack stiffened, trying to remember the few techniques Sera and Koz had taught him during one of their phone sessions. After the repeated encounters with these men, they had decided to teach Jack self-defense. He hadn't practiced nearly enough for the techniques to become second nature, and feared that he would fail horribly at defending himself. The fear gripped him, and he felt paralyzed. He couldn't feel anything as his head spun in a panic, not even his frantic heartbeat. He was numb, limbs dead and breath stopped.

Then Hiccup hissed beside him, “Psst,” and flashed a pocketknife in his hand. Jack didn't think his eyes could get any wider. He shook his head, silently begging Hiccup not to do what he was thinking of doing. But Hiccup didn't listen. Yet another thing that hadn't changed: Hiccup never listened to him.

The last thing he remembered was the men advancing on them and Hiccup pulling the knife.What happened next was a blur to Jack. His body seized up before his vision blackened and he was lost in his own head.

:)

Pitch had lost track of time. He'd gotten lost in his latest chapter, grown so excited at how far the story was going. The characters were running rampant in his mind, and the tea was enhancing everything to the point that if he closed his eyes he could smell colors. He knew the answers to everything, and it felt fantastic.

Until he looked at the clock and realized Jack hadn't come home. Something in his chest seized and he couldn't remember the last time he'd lost his breath so quickly. When he finally snapped back into reality, his first instinct was to find his phone. He couldn't remember where he put it. He usually had it on him at all times, for fear that Sera might need to speak with him. He felt like he'd just had it. He'd just spoken to her. How far away could it have flown? Very far, apparently. He cursed, realizing that he'd drank so much tea that he'd become scatterbrained. He couldn't afford to be scatterbrained.

By the time he found it, the kitchen was in disarray and the couch cushions were halfway across the room. It had been lost to the couch. He should have guessed. Looking at his messages, he had no texts. That was normally a good thing, but not now. Texting was the bane of his existence most days, but right now he needed to know Jack was alright. Checking the phone for other messages, he had no voicemails. There was a missed call but it was from Sera, before and he had spoken. Nothing from Jack.

His hands were shaking as he speed dialed Jack's phone. Holding the phone to his ear, he bit his lip and closed his eyes. Slipping his glasses off to rub his eyes, he listened to the ringing. It rang too many times. It rang continuously, like a landline that had been disconnected. Pitch hung up and dialed again, but this time only got Jack's voicemail. His chest tightened further as he left the message, “Call me!” without a lick of context. Closing his phone, he froze and tried to breathe. He tried to think, come up with a plan of action. Should he go to the Moon Clipper and see if he was still there? No, it was much too late to do that. Still, it was worth a shot. That's where Jack would have last been seen, and if Sanderson hadn't seen Jack come into work Pitch would have been the first to know. Or so he thought.

Fumbling around the kitchen for his keys, he pocketed the cell before slipping on something that resembled shoes and a coat. Shoving his arms through the sleeves, he heard his phone buzz in his pocket. With one arm in and the other stuck, he heard the fabric of the coat tear as he ripped it off. Grabbing the phone from his pocket, he answered it without looking to see who was calling. “Mr. Pitchiner?” the voice on the other end asked.

“This is he,” he said, trying to slow his breathing. The individual had called him by his real name. That could only mean one of two things. He prayed to whatever deity he chose to put his faith in that day that this time it was because Jack was safe with someone.

Or was he? He didn't realize he was rubbing his chest until he forced himself to put his hand down. “This is Tyrone calling from Bon Secours,” the rest of the sentence faded as static began crackling in his mind. The hospital. The hospital was calling him. Jack. Jack, what have you done? The nurse or secretary or whoever he was talking to at the moment rattled off something about an attack, an arrest, and a list of injuries that Pitch didn't quite piece together. He felt himself rest his back against the front door and slide down to the floor. He hadn't been called by the hospital in so long. So many years had passed. So many.

Oh God no. “Jack is—?” he couldn't finish. Jack was hurt. Please just say he was hurt and not . . . not . . . .

“Jack is fine. Shaken, but fine. He has some bumps and scrapes, but—”

“Give me directions. Now.” Usually when he took this tone with someone, they were taken aback for a few seconds before giving him exactly what he wanted.

This scenario was no different.

:)

Jack held the ice to his head, grateful that the doctors and police had finally stopped nitpicking long enough for him to ask someone to call Koz and tell him what happened. Somewhere in the fight, he'd lost his phone. He honestly couldn't recall all of what had transpired. Only that the police had shown up, the men who'd given Jack hell had been arrested, and Hiccup . . . Hiccup was lucky to be alive.

He hadn't listened. He hadn't listened, and now he was unconscious in the ICU. Jack only looked devastated and disheveled. He hadn't born nearly as much as Hiccup had. What's worse, his old friend might be facing charges for pulling a knife. A pocketknife, no less. What was a pocketknife to the brick and the pipes the attackers had used? He was so tired of the lopsidedness of the law, of how everything always turned out against him. He had been doing well. He'd been fine. He'd finally felt like things were coming together. But then, as always, his bad luck came creeping back in. He couldn't even give the cops an accurate testimony because he'd blacked out. The only evidence he could have provided them with was that these men had attacked him before and that Hiccup was more beaten up than anyone else they'd spoken to or arrested. Jack was so furious with himself.

And it occurred to him for someone who'd only received a few of the punches, he was thinking of himself an awful lot. The thought made him constrict on himself and want to black out again. The police had told him that when they happened upon the scene, Jack was holding his own. Jack was trying to keep the others at bay. Jack remembered none of that. He wouldn't have believed them had his knuckles not been sore. The clearest thing he recalled was seeing Hiccup go down.

They had long ago stopped talking to one another. Until that night, Jack never would have guessed Hiccup would still consider him a friend. After this, though? Jack wasn't sure he'd be able to face Hiccup again.

He didn't hear her walk up. He was too lost in thought to ready himself for the onslaught. He only knew he was being confronted when Astrid grabbed his coat collar and yanked him upright. He dropped the ice, feeling all of his bruises at once as she shouted, “You?!” She shoved him backwards, forcing him back in his seat with a stunned look on his face. “I knew you were trouble, but I didn't expect this!”

“Astrid—”

“No!” she shouted over him. “You stay away from him!”

“I didn't mean for this to happen,” he tried to defend himself.

“You never did. You never meant for anything to happen. But every time something _has_ happened, you've been involved.” There were tears in her eyes. He knew she was scared. He was too. They knew Hiccup was going to be alright, but it had all been so close—

She struck him so hard it made the alleged concussion he had seem more pronounced. He couldn't look at her, then. He heard her breathing, felt her presence, but couldn't look at her. He flinched as he felt her prepare to swing again. She was stopped by the nurse who'd offered to call Koz for him. Tyrone grabbed her arms, spewing out, “Whoa, hey, knock it off! You're in a hospital, for God's sake.”

“Then he'll get the service he needs!” she spat, her voice trembling a little more as she pulled her arm out of Tyrone's grip. She prepared to punch once more, Jack barely flinching this time.

Still, Tyrone stopped her. “Hey, enough! While I appreciate a girl with a good right hook, shouldn't you go see—?”

“Shut up!” Astrid shouted, pulling out of his grip one more time. She didn't move to strike Jack again this time. After a pause, she glared at him and growled, “I've got more important things to do.”

When she left, he heard her grumbling about how much of a mess he was. He stared at the floor, feeling everything inside him sink and die. He felt so heavy he might collapse from how hard it was to breathe. A mess. He was a mess. She was right. That's all he'd ever been. It was only a matter of time before he messed things up beyond repair. His chest ached from that realization, because the few good things in his life consisted of his coworkers, bosses, and Koz. Especially Koz. Mostly Koz. And he was well aware that Koz was going to leave him someday. He didn't know when or how, but it was going to happen. Before he knew it, his hands were on his head and he was rocking back and forth in an attempt to quell the screaming inside his own brain.

He wasn't expecting Tyrone to sit with him, but he did. While he appreciated the sentiment, he wished he were left alone. Opening his mouth to say something, he was interrupted when Tyrone said, “Mr. Pitchiner is on his way. Sounded high-strung if you ask me.” Jack debated whether or not he could answer. He wasn't sure his tongue could move to form a response. Fortunately, Tyrone continued doing the talking for him. “I think he was worried.” Jack nodded. No, Koz wasn't just worried. He was probably a mixture of furious and concerned. At least the police hadn't pressed him on the vandalism accusation. That had been one blessing. “How long the two of you been together?”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, and was surprised to find his voice still working despite the sinking feeling. “A few months. I think.” He couldn't really remember. It had felt longer than it had been. 

“How'd you meet?”

“He became a regular at the shop I work at.” Tyrone nodded, listening. “We . . . started people watching together. That's how we got to know each other.”

“Bonding through stalking. I can appreciate that.” When phrased that way, he actually felt worse. Tyrone must have seen this. “Not that that's a bad thing. I mean, my last boyfriend was a stalker.” Jack's stare must have been one of astonishment (he wasn't in full control of his body at the moment), because Tyrone immediately corrected himself, “Yeah, I got outta that. Left town completely. He was a bit obsessive. More than a bit. It wasn't good.” Tyrone's face was starting to redden. Holding up his hands in surrender, he admitted, “I'm trying to be distracting. You've been hit with a lot of unwanted attention lately, and I kinda know what that's like. I just suck at the whole . . . comfort thing. My sister would be better at this, but unfortunately she's not here.”

Jack shook his head. “I appreciate it. Really. Thanks for trying.” Still, the sinking feeling gnawed at him. But conversation was helping him ignore it. “You got someone? Boyfriend, girlfriend I mean?”

“Girlfriend.”

“She running from a crazy ex too?”

He chuckled. “Well, he's obsessive too. But not crazy.”

“Not like the stalker?”

Tyrone shook his head. “Thank God, no.”

Jack's stomach was turning. Deciding to rest his head on the wall behind him, he closed his eyes and groaned when he hit his head a little harder than he intended. Tyrone immediately reached down to pick up the icepack he'd dropped earlier and handed it back to him. Thanking him, he placed it on the part of his head that hurt most. “You said you had a sister?”

“Yeah. She's a doctor. Great bedside manner. Everyone loves her.” He shrugged. “I'm a bit jealous at how easy she makes it look.”

He tried not to let his mind wander while talking about sisters and spouses. While he was glad of Tyrone's thoughtfulness, he still felt the need to be alone. Once Koz got there, he wouldn't be alone at all. And he didn't want Koz to see him like this. He'd seen him terrified, but never quite so . . . guilty.

When he saw Koz come in, he stood slowly. He was expecting a lot of things. He was expecting a barrage of questions, an accusation, anything but what he got. As soon as his eyes locked with Koz's, he saw fear and anxiety in the older man's face. He was about to speak when Koz, who was normally so calm and reserved, threw his arms around him and crushed him to his chest. Jack let out a noise he wasn't positive what to call, but the hold Koz had on him quickly turned from painful to appreciated. The sinking feeling was suddenly nonexistent, but the reminder of what he'd caused hit him. Before he knew what he was doing, tears pricked his eyes and he was embracing Koz as well.

They were quiet for a long time. Neither heard Tyrone leave them, but they were both very aware of the sound of the other's heart beating. They were both counting each other's breaths. In a way, that was what finally brought Jack out of his stupor, which he hadn't completely shaken despite Astrid's and Tyrone's best efforts. He hadn't realized he'd been in such a fog until Koz was holding him like it mattered whether or not something happened to him.

Then Koz whispered, “Last time I was in a hospital, I lost my wife.”

Jack's heart felt like it was bleeding from the recognition of what that was doing to Koz. He held his partner tighter, whispering, “I'm so sorry.”

Koz shook his head against Jack's head. “Don't be sorry. Just be okay.”

While Jack knew what Koz meant, he wasn't entirely sure he could give him that reassurance just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the next chapter written in two weeks.


	15. Chapter 15

To Koz's credit, he had not obsessed over every single cut and bruise Jack had received in the fight. When Jack asked for it, Koz was willing to give him his space. However, he was never too far from Jack's reach. Jack had not had to call for his aid yet.

Until now. He awoke with a tight chest and heavy breathing. Sitting bolt upright in bed, he clutched the area where his heart would be. Heaving, he had no idea what could have triggered the attack. He had no idea what had caused this. Oh no, he thought. Please no, please not now. Please just stop.

Jack's eyes were wide with panic, his hands atrophying into clutching claws. He rocked back and forth to steady himself, but couldn't help feeling how alone he was. That was idiotic. That was preposterous. He wasn't alone. He was fine. He had Aster, he had Sandy, he had Searra and Jamie and Sera and Koz . . . .

But for how long would he have them?

“Oh God no,” he begged his thoughts to stop, begged the attack to come to a grinding halt. His heart pounded, shaking every fiber of his being loose from the moorings he'd built. The pain in his chest was so unnerving. It was so all-consuming. He wondered if it really was a heart attack and not just another panic attack. “Please no.”

“Jack?” Koz whispered as he came awake. When sleep left him alone long enough for him to realize what was happening, he was up and throwing back the covers. “Jack, what's wrong?”

“Panic,” was the only thing that could escape his throat now. 

“Okay,” Koz looked ready to panic himself, “what should I do?” Jack shook his head, unsure if there was anything Koz could do to help him. “What should I not do?”

“Don't,” Jack choked on his own tongue, eyes growing watery. “Don't . . . leave.”

Koz nodded. “Alright, I won't. I can do that.” There was a pause, which felt longer than it truly was. “Should I hold you? Would that make it worse?”

Jack's head shook. “I'm not sure.”

“I'll try it.” With that, Koz slid behind him and wrapped his arms around Jack's waist. Face buried in Jack's hair, Jack could feel the older man's body heat seeping into his skin through their shirts. Hands still clutching his chest, Jack tried focusing on his breathing. His chest hurt from how tight it felt, and his lungs and throat were starting to burn from the heavy breathing. His back hurt, his insides feeling like deadweight. Leaning back into Koz provided some relief to his back at least.

His chest stayed tight and his breathing didn't let up for a while. Without warning or prompting, Koz reached a hand up and began rubbing Jack's chest. This forced his hands out of the way, leaving Jack unsure of what to do with them. After a few seconds of just holding them up in the air, he settled for gripping the sheets beside his and Koz's legs. The circular motion of Koz's hands created a rhythm, which registered in Jack's head and body as a rhythm to follow. After a few minutes, his heart rate started to slow in order to keep pace with the circles. His breathing followed soon after, and eventually all that was left to remind him of the attack was the fog in his mind and the remainder of the tightness in his chest. The constriction didn't last long, but the fog wasn't so easily lost. It was so prevalent that when Koz asked if he was feeling better, Jack's only answer was, “Uh-huh.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Jack couldn't. Not only was he incapable of forming coherent sentences, he didn't want Koz to know. It was stupid. There was no sense in his fears, and saying them aloud would cause too many issues rather than solve them. He didn't want to sound clingy or needy. He didn't want to sound like he didn't trust Koz, because he did. He really did. Overall, he was afraid that sounding his fear of being left alone would make Koz leave him quicker. He couldn't take that right now.

So he shook his head and let Koz hold him. He kept his mouth closed and simply tried to appreciate the warmth while he had it. It was hard to do when all he could think about was the day he'd be alone again.

:)

Jack had been distant since the attack and Pitch couldn't blame him. But he was starting to miss the young man he had been. He could see in Jack's posture that something inside him was deteriorating. Whether that was his self-esteem, his trust in Pitch, or something else entirely, Pitch wasn't positive. All he knew was that it was creating a wall between himself and Jack that wasn't there before. Or, perhaps, it was simply making itself known. Perhaps the wall had always been there. 

He tried to shake the thought, but it was difficult. His writing was providing enough of a distraction that his doubts never crept past that point. Still, he had doubts. He worried he might not be able to repair the damage that had been done. He worried that he might have played a part in the creation of the damage. He didn't know how, but it was a fear that he held.

Writing was his only safe haven, and suddenly even that felt slightly tainted by Jack's absence. He really shouldn't refer to it as absence, though. Jack was still very present in his life, but it felt like he also wasn't there at the same time. In a way, Pitch felt like he might be able to handle this better if Jack were actually gone. Even that thought was unbearable.

He didn't know what to do. Often when he didn't know what to do, he turned to the one consistency in his life for advice. She responded with, “Cuddle him. He's afraid. I'll be there as soon as the semester's over.”

He wished Seraphina could tell him what Jack was afraid of, because Jack hadn't indicated it in the slightest. He wasn't going to run into those thugs again at least, so he couldn't fear that. He had received word the man who'd defended him was recovering, but that had not helped. That Tyrone fellow was kind and discreet enough to keep Jack up to date. Pitch just wished he could get Jack to speak with him. About anything.

And he was trying. Pitch was trying desperately. “How about some tea?” Jack just shook his head. “Have you worked on anything lately?” Jack, of course, said no. Stupid question. Pitch knew damn well Jack hadn't so much as looked at his supplies since the incident. “Is work going well?” Jack nodded, though Pitch also knew that wasn't true. Aster was forever calling and asking how Jack was doing, saying he just wasn't his usual sarcastic self at work. The fact that Aster asked Pitch rather than going through Seraphina spoke volumes.

So the questions and nods or shakes went. Pitch was beginning to think he really had lost Jack at the hospital.

Then one day Jack responded to a particular question that Pitch already knew the answer to with, “I'm sorry.”

Pitch looked up from fixing them lunch. “For what?”

Jack stared at the counter, eyes boring into a particular spot on the smooth surface. “I haven't . . . I haven't been all here lately.”

No, he really hadn't. Pitch didn't say that, though. Instead, he said, “I understand. It's alright.”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his fingers in his hair. “No it's not.” His forehead hit the counter lightly as he whispered, “How are you even dealing with me?”

Pitch set down what he'd been working on, reaching across to place his hand on Jack's shoulder. “I don't think of it that way.” That was the truth. He really didn't. He spent most of his time wondering what he'd done so wrong to warrant Jack being upset with him.

He could see now that might not be the case. “It must be hell,” he muttered. Jack looked up slightly, and Pitch could see his eyes watering. “It must be awful living with a zombie.”

Pitch became stern then, and he didn't even realize he'd done it. “Listen here,” Jack almost flinched at the tone, eyes going wide as he looked at Pitch, “there are no zombies living here. You are not some problem I have to deal with. You are someone very dear to me, whom I love very much.” He took both of Jack's hands in his. “You're mine. And I'll do what I have to to make you happy again.”

Jack remained stiff and unblinking for a moment, making Pitch fear he had said too much. He had gone too far. Then Jack looked down again, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. Before the tears in his eyes could fall, he was up and moving around the counter into Pitch's arms. He held Pitch tight, like Pitch was his life preserver out on the open ocean. Pitch was stunned, but wrapped his arms around the young man anyway. Soon his hold also tightened and he was burying his face in brown hair. When Jack finally broke the silence, a sob came with the words, “I just wanna be okay again.”

Pitch knew. He knew, yet he had no idea how to make it happen. All he knew how to do was tighten his hold on Jack for now.

:)

When the semester ended, Sera's first stop was not her father's and Jack's apartment but to Bunny's Coffee Shop. Her dad was still at work (she'd arrived early and she knew it would probably upset him but she had more important things to accomplish), and Jack had to be at the shop at this hour. Aster had told her off and on how concerned he was over Jack, and she had to tell him at some point not to worry because her father was just as concerned as well. Aster didn't doubt it. What he doubted was Pitch's ability to deal with certain things? She could understand that. After all, Jack had had to talk both of them off the edge at the same time. Now it was her turn to return the favor.

And it had been difficult accomplishing what she'd needed to. Difficult, but not impossible. Em's relationship with some of the technology professors was incredibly useful in conducting this research. So when she came up with this idea of cheering Jack up, she wasn't without resources.

Somehow, she knew what Jack was afraid of even before she set foot in the coffee shop. After her father had explained the situation to her, she picked up on what Jack might be feeling rather quickly. She was her father's daughter, but under circumstances of panicking and how to deal with that panic, she and Jack were probably way ahead of him. As for Jack's fears, she'd been there before. She knew that her plan might fall through, but it was worth a try nevertheless.

“Jack Jack!” she shouted, surprising the few customers who were present.

The young man looked up, barely responding other than a small smile and a head tilt. “Hey,” he uttered. God, he looked bad, she thought. Like he'd witnessed a murder. Well, almost.

Sliding onto a bar seat, she quieted down and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I've been better,” he answered honestly. At least he was being truthful with her.

Aster came out from the back, eyes narrowing on her immediately. “What, I don't get a greeting?”

“Hey Bunny!” she responded with a hint of snark.

“Haha. I guess I'll take that.” He failed to hide the smile that appeared at her nickname for him. “Can I get you anything?”

“Not right now. In a minute, though,” she said, winking at him. He nodded and went back to whatever it was he had been doing before.

Turning back to Jack, she took a deep breath and pulled something out of her bag. Setting it on the counter, it caught Jack's notice. It had better. It only had the words 'to Jackson Overland' written in huge black letters on the top of the shoebox. “What's that?” Jack asked. He didn't sound enthused, but rather suspicious.

And it made her want to beat the hell out of whoever had hurt him before. “It's a present,” she teased. “Now,” she clapped her hands together and crossed her ankles, “you and I both know my father is sometimes emotionally and socially stunted.”

The smile that crept onto his lips seemed promising. “Yeah.” She sensed a 'me too' wanted to come out of his mouth at that time, but it didn't.

“Well, on top of emotionally stunted and socially impaired, he's also overprotective as all get out. You knew that though.” He nodded. “What you didn't know was that he went through a phase where he recorded every single phone conversation I ever had just in case I disappeared and he needed to track me down.”

Jack's eyes widened. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, _Taken_ really did a number on him. What he doesn't know is that I figured out how he did it and have been using it on him as well.”

Jack stared at her, mouth agape. There was a long pause before he uttered aloud, “I'm dating 007 and his daughter and no one told me.”

Sera gave him a devious smile. “Better than Sherlock Holmes, I'd say.”

Jack looked down, biting back a snicker. “At least Ian Fleming doesn't hate James Bond as much as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle hated Sherlock. That I know of.”

“We just don't know,” Sera said. “Anyway,” she gestured to the box, “in here I have recorded every conversation my father and I have had about you.”

Jack looked utterly horrified as soon as those words sank it. “That sounds . . . intensely personal.”

“It is, but I want you to know just how much he loves you. I know he's told you he loves you, but I don't think you know the extent of it. Because, you know, emotionally and socially stunted.”

Handing the box over to him, he stared at it like it contained all the secrets of the universe. His eyes started shining as he lifted the lid and peeked inside at all the printed off pages of the messages, voicemails, and conversations Pitch had had about him. The box was heavy from the pages, almost completely full of Pitch's and Sera's words about him. Closing the lid, he hesitated before asking, “He talks about me this much?”

“And it's all good things, just so you know,” she added.

He wiped his nose, sniffing as he couldn't take his eyes off the box. “Why?”

“Why? He loves you, genius. Why did I do this?” Jack nodded. “It's for the bad days. When you think you're alone.”

With that, he set the box down and hugged her across the counter. “Thank you,” he uttered against her shoulder.

“Family's stick together, Jack. And you're a part of this family whether you like it or not.”

For the first time, she heard a genuine laugh and saw a genuine smile on his face.

Later, when her father asked her what she'd done to make Jack smile again, all she said was that she'd given him reading material. He didn't question it further. If anything, he accepted it faster than he'd ever accepted anything she'd said and immediately began enjoying the happiness Jack was exuding again. No, he wasn't fully there yet. He had some more healing to do. But at least now he didn't feel like being okay again was impossible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little late, a little short, but a chapter all the same.


	16. Chapter 16

Christmas was drawing near and Pitch was no longer biting nails, but biting skin. He'd finished his newest novel and was waiting to hear back from the publisher, so that was no longer worrying him. Jack was feeling well enough that Pitch let him read the manuscript. A day later Jack was demanding a sequel, which Pitch would have loved to procure if he wasn't so focused on other things. At least he didn't have to worry about getting the novel finished before the deadline he'd set for himself. Now his troubles seemed centered around figuring out just what it means to be social around the holiday season.

This was not his strong suit. It was a miracle he was capable of talking in front of classes of students. That wasn't so hard. The discussions tended to be intelligent and the interactions limited. There were a few he had to meet with one on one, but there was no personal involvement really. There was no real need to delve into his own life, though in some cases the students needed to tell him what was going on in their lives to explain why they weren't always doing well. He could handle being a teacher in this level of education.

He wasn't so sure he could handle friendly meetings and such. So far the only real gatherings he'd been to with those he deemed acquaintances and, in some cases, friends had been the art meetings. Even then he spent most of his time pointing to Jack and his abilities than his own.

On top of rediscovering socialization, he hadn't yet figured out what to get Jack. He'd done one thing, one thing he'd been planning since his writer's block ended, but that was small. It felt small to him, at least. He wanted to do more. Sera was easy to buy for, really, but Jack was troubling him.

When Jack was working one day, Sera proved to be a godsend. “Psst,” she whispered over his shoulder as he was making tea.

“Yes, darling,” he muttered, mind very much elsewhere at the moment.

“He needs new colored pencils. And paper,” she whispered, like Jack might somehow hear her all the way from Bunny's Coffee Shop.

Speaking of which, “Aren't you supposed to be helping Aster or something of the sort?”

“Kinda sorta. We had a deal.”

“What sort of deal?”

“It's a secret.” Then she put a piece of paper in his pocket. “Wrote down the brand of pencils he uses. Doing more reconnaissance later.”

Pitch silently blessed his daughter and her ability to find out any piece of information she wanted. When he'd taught her how to observe, he hadn't anticipated she'd be so thorough. Persistence was something she hadn't inherited from him. No, it must have come from her mother.

With her help, he was able to accumulate enough information to buy a proper gift for Jack. He had no doubt she was also helping Jack pick something out for him, because that was how she worked. Also, the two sometimes scattered like ants whenever he walked into a room. They were good at hiding what they were doing for the most part, but Pitch had been conspiring with Sera long enough to know what she looked like when she was hiding something.

Watching Jack's mood improve actually gave Pitch hope for them. He was beginning to worry about what it would mean if the publisher devoured his manuscript the way Jack had.

:)

“Kid, everyone wants your prints. I just thought I'd tell you that,” Aster declared as they closed up shop.

“I've gotten a bunch of offers,” Jack commented.

“Tell you what,” Aster said, “you print out more and pass 'em to me and the others in our group. We'll hang 'em up and advertise your work. Then people will see them in more places and want them.”

“I'm having a hard time pricing them, though. I just don't know what's fair, you know?”

“I can help you with that. Any of us can. We all have an idea of what's fair and reasonable, and all you need to do is print 'em.” Aster ruffled Jack's hair. “You got yourself a business as an artist, Jack. We're envious of ya.”

Jack never thought his studies and passion for art would actually pay off, but it was looking like it had. Shutting down and locking up, he waved to Aster and waited for Koz to drive up. There really was no waiting involved with Koz, though. He was there as soon as Aster stepped towards his own vehicle. Checking his bag full of prints carefully, he made sure none were showing. Some prints were gifts, and some extra things were stuffed in there alongside them that were also gifts. He didn't want Sera or Koz catching an early glimpse of any of them.

Sliding into the back seat, he was bombarded with Sera's questions, “So how is Bunny? How was work? What have you got there?”

“Breathe, Sera. Also, let Jack breathe,” Koz told her.

“I can't believe he lets you call him Bunny. I've been trying to get away with that as long as I've been here,” Jack said, shifting his bag so she couldn't see what was in it.

“Are those presents?” she asked excitedly.

“Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“No,” both Jack and Koz said. Jack saw Koz smiling in the rear view and it made him smile as well.

As soon as they got home, Sera stole Jack to wrap the presents despite her father's protests. Jack didn't know how he did it, but he managed to keep the present he had for her from showing. The holiday season was going . . . well. Very well. He had the thought that it was going almost too well, but he pressed on happily ignoring it.

On Christmas Eve, after a mysterious buzz had fallen on Sera, Koz, and Jack, Jack and Koz left the snoring Sera in what was once Jack’s room and left for theirs. Snuggling in closer to one another, they started with what was supposed to be a quick goodnight kiss. Soon their lips were locking and they were pressing flush against one another. Koz’s mouth moved against Jack’s slowly, almost lazily. He slid between Jack’s legs, rolling the younger onto his back and bringing a thigh up to rub against his core. Jack keened, voice hushed as he slid his hands over Koz’s back. The older cradled Jack’s face in his hands, thumbs running over his cheeks as he pressed a few more lighter kisses to his lips and pulled back to look down at the other. Jack looked back at him with a hooded, blue gaze, throat bobbing as he swallowed. He gave a gentle nod, pressing his face further into Koz’s hands as he tilted his head up to kiss with more fervor.

They slid each other’s shirts off steadily, each reluctant to break the kiss. Jack lifted his hips enough for Koz to slide his boxers from his body. He shivered, completely nude under the other’s warmth. Koz palmed Jack’s erection momentarily, pulling gasps from the other’s mouth and into his. He moaned, hand sliding up the younger’s side before drawing away. Koz reached for the bedside table and pulled open the drawer, pulling from it a bottle of lubricant. Jack tensed as Koz slicked up his fingers, focusing more on the kiss than the digits that were about to enter him.

Koz’s fingers circled Jack’s entrance, his knees pushing outward and spreading Jack’s legs wider as he uttered, “Breathe.” Jack nodded, obeying and breathing as evenly as he could. The first few breaths were shaky, but he eventually relaxed enough for Koz to slip at least one finger in without it hurting. It was strange, the feeling of being stretched and invaded. Jack shuddered, but gave the older an encouraging nod. It wasn’t the second finger stretching and teasing him that made his eyes go wide so much as the third finger. That was when he really started to feel the burn of the stretch, when he had to grip Koz’s shoulders and follow his partner’s calm and soothing reminders for him to breathe and relax. “We can stop at any time,” he whispered to Jack.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t want to.”

He blinked his eyes open and saw an oddly devious smile on Koz’s lips. It reminded him he was in bed with the horror novelist Pitch Black somehow, sending chills down his spine that made the feeling of having Koz’s fingers inside of him so, so much more intense. “I thought you might say that.” Then he was kissing him again, the kiss much more heated than before and leaving Jack even more breathless.

The stretch started to become more bearable, turning enjoyable. He started shifting his hips downward, driving Koz’s fingers deeper into him by moving against his rhythm. Judging by the look Koz was giving him (and the moan that spilled from his mouth at every other thrust downward), he was driving the older man crazy here.

When four fingers were splitting him open, Jack was having a rough time keeping his voice down. Eyes shut and mouth open, he huffed and whimpered, desperate utterances falling from his lips. “P-Pitch,” the name slipped, “please.” Nails dug into the older’s shoulders. “P-please Koz-z.”

Koz chuckled at the mixture of names, then whispered, “Please what?”

Jack’s eyes cracked open and narrowed in on the older. He knew exactly what, he just wanted Jack to say it. “Please, I n-need you.”

And Koz was eating up the begging. “Need me to what?” He thrust his hand hard, and Jack’s hips bucked and God, he felt himself strain from how much he needed the attention. How much he needed Koz. He needed him inside of him.

He groaned. “Fuck me.” His brow furrowed. “Pleas-se fuck me.”

The fingers withdrew and Jack keened. Reaching for the lubricant again, Jack listened as Koz slicked himself up. When he finally felt the press of his partner’s cock against him, Jack clapped a hand over his mouth and closed his eyes in anticipation. Koz hummed. “No, I don’t think so.” The next thing Jack knew, Koz was rolling them over and Jack was on top, the older man’s hard, hot cock pushing into him and making him straighten up at the breach. Eyes shooting wide and harsh gasps gusting from his open mouth, the younger looked down at his partner. Koz’s eyes were closed and his mouth equally open and panting. “Th-there.”

Jack was so full, so split from Koz and his gut felt so tight. Everything felt tight and he just . . . oh God, he had to stay still and take this in. It was rough. It was hard, it was rough, it was so much more intense than he ever could have imagined.

It was incredible.

Koz’s hands gripped Jack’s hips as Jack started lifting up and sliding back down, testing the feeling. He let out a strangled moan, finding a slow and even rhythm as Koz kept his hips still and allowed Jack to set the pace. It was only when Jack picked up speed that Koz started lifting his hips in time with the other’s movements. Jack’s mouth fell open, but no sound came out. When his eyes cracked open again, Koz was watching him. He was watching him so intently, studying him as he had always studied Jack it seemed. Oh to be read in a state such as this . . . Koz was seeing something no one had ever seen from him. Koz alone knew what he looked like when he was naked and bucking and being thrust into. Koz alone would know what he had trusted no one else with.

He started whining as the pace grew rougher, and found himself leaning on Koz’s chest and begging for breath. Hips rocking together, Jack whined when Koz slowed to a stop. One hand leaving Jack’s hips to cup his cheek, Jack felt his fingers smear a wetness that had leaked from the younger’s eye. Jack blurted out, “I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?”

Jack nodded. “I’m perfect.”

In another sudden series of movements, Jack was on his back again. He was emptied of Koz’s cock and then, with one leg pushed up to allow access, he was filled once more. He couldn’t stop himself from crying out, turning to bury his face in a pillow. The thrusting was harder and faster this way, and Koz’s warmth covered him. His abdomen ached and everything felt tight, tight, so tight, so good. He felt amazing. He felt full. He felt perfect.

And he was Koz’s. He was Koz’s alone.

When Jack spilled, he went completely limp in Koz’s hands. When Koz spilled, his arms framed and caged Jack beneath him. They panted, slowly pressing closer to one another until their arms encircled each other and their lips met again. Their mouths moved together, fast and hard at first before slowing back down to a gentle pace similar to that of the one they had started with. With one another sweating and sated, they then froze staring into each other’s eyes. They whispered their love for one another, and Jack’s chest swelled to the lightest it had been in . . . he couldn’t remember.

He slept well that night. When he woke up, Koz was still wrapped around him and he around Koz. Smiling at the serene look upon the older man’s face, he didn’t think there was a gift Koz could give him more precious than this. He truly didn’t.


	17. Chapter 17

Christmas came and went in a flurry of colors and gift wrapping. The holiday had been burgeoning with excitement and laughter, and he had not seen so much cheer in so, so long. So many years Pitch had spent with just Sera. From what he gathered of Jack, he’d spent a good chunk of time celebrating on his own as well.

This Christmas truly was a holiday.

It was almost disheartening, how quickly things wound down and returned back to normal after Sera went home. Then again, things were not completely the same.

Pitch’s eyes washed over Jack’s shifting form as the young man rode him, hands following his gaze where they could reach. He somehow understood. After so many years without this level of intimacy, he understood what it meant when people claimed to feel closer to Heaven whenever they were in bed. 

And Jack liked being in bed with him. Once that door had been open to him, he took advantage. It took so little to get Pitch’s attention too. The subtle brush of a hand over his back. The slight presentation of his ass as he bends to get something out of a lower cabinet. The hooded look over a cup of tea he passes so damn easily.

It never took too long to give that wandering hand bare skin to ghost over. It never took long to press against that lovely rear end of Jack’s. It never took long to force those eyes all the way shut with a passionate kiss.

Pitch Black could get high on Jackson Overland. He could drown in his moans, bake at his touch, die from his looks.

Jackson Overland had become his absolute everything and he never wanted to let him go.

Which was why he felt so completely torn apart to receive the phonecall that his manuscript had been reviewed and the publisher and editor wanted him to meet up in Chicago as soon as possible. He’d hung up and covered his face with both hands.

He was leaving.

He had to.

But . . . he sure as hell didn’t want to.


	18. Chapter 18

“Look at this.”

“I see it.”

“Look at it.”

Aster laughed. “Yeah kid, I see it.”

“But look at it!” Jack continued to hold the check up in his supervisor’s face at the end of his shift. “This is more than I made in one week working in college.”

“That’s not hard, mate.”

“This is,” Jack turned the check around to look at it himself, “amazing.”

“You’re getting somewhere,” Aster declared, pushing lightly at his employee’s shoulder. “Keep at it. You’ll have a good side business going at this rate.”

Jack pocketed the check happily. Yes. Yes he would. He just needed to keep at it. Looking at his art, which hung on Aster’s walls, he felt a sense of pride. He wished he’d shown them his art sooner, but at the same time . . . he wouldn’t have appreciated the advice as much. He wouldn’t have been as willing to commit. Jack came to them at the right time, and it was all because of Koz.

Koz, who was waiting for him outside.

Jack gathered his things and left, waving his goodbyes to Aster and going out to meet Koz. When he stepped out, he immediately started chattering about how excited he was about his latest sale. He didn’t stop until he realized Koz wasn’t sharing in his excitement quite as much as he had hoped he would.

They also weren’t moving toward the car.

They were just standing there.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked, brow creasing as he looked up at the older.

Koz paused, and Jack was reminded of the beginnings of their friendship. Of how he was more than likely to burst out in a string of incoherencies that was supposed to be a sentence. He waited patiently for Koz to speak, didn’t prompt him otherwise. He stood and watched the older man think.

When he finally spoke up, Jack’s heart sank for him. “I received a call from my publisher.”

“Did they reject your manuscript?” Why else would Koz be so upset? The man’s hands were wringing, what other explanation could he conjure?

“No.” The word was almost a scoff. “No, they loved it. Want to get to work on it immediately.” Jack waited. There was a ‘but’ in here somewhere. There had to be. Why was Koz so nervous, what could possibly be—? “They want me to move immediately.”

Jack understood then. He almost felt his lip quiver and his heart stop, eyes steadily widening and features sagging. He felt . . . heavy. “What . . .,” what to say, “what about,” me, what about me, “your students?” Koz . . . Pitch was a professor. He couldn’t just leave his students behind, could he?

Would he?

“I have to iron out the details with the college,” he remarked matter-of-factly. “Someone would need to cover for me.”

Jack grew heavier. “What about the apartment?”

Pitch stiffened. “Either I would sell it, or—”

Jack didn’t stick around to hear the ‘or.’ He knew what was coming. He knew it well. He ignored Pitch calling out for him as he started briskly walking away. “I need some space,” was the only explanation that left his lips.

He heard footsteps falling short.

Pitch . . . had been following him.

But now he wasn’t, and Jack felt the saltwater he loathed starting to prick his eyes. Chest clenching and breathing ceasing, he didn’t collapse in panic. No, but goddamn if he didn’t want to. He wanted to curl up where he stalked and never get back up. He wanted to rip out the feelings that had developed over the past few months. He wanted to wash away every regret over having foolishly believed that finally, finally someone would stay a constant in his life.

No matter how much his brain wanted to reason with him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d been wrong about Pitch. Logic told him it didn’t make sense, to be this upset. To feel this terrible. To feel so . . . abandoned. It wasn’t like Pitch had told him to get out, no.

No.

He had told him he was leaving.

For some reason . . . that hurt so much worse.


	19. Chapter 19

Pitch was on edge the whole way home and throughout the rest of the day. He had known Jack wouldn’t take the news of his leaving well, but he also hadn’t expected him to leave before he got the opportunity to explain himself fully. He still had a serious bit to add. He still had something to ask. But Jack hadn’t heard him out. He hadn’t waited. He’d just walked off.

He’d panicked.

Pitch had half a mind to call his daughter and ask for her advice, but that didn’t seem right or fair. He had to wait. He had to trust that Jack would come back. He had . . . he had to ask. He had to ask him.

Had to make this right.

But what if Jack couldn’t? What if he couldn’t do what Pitch wanted him to, needed him to? What if he’d misjudged Jack?

What if Pitch had been wrong?

He imagined that was exactly how Jack felt. He imagined Jack thought Pitch hadn’t cared as much as he. He imagined that he had run off upset because all he had heard was that Pitch was leaving. Pitch was leaving and he was never going to see him again. Pitch hated that thought. He hated it with every fiber of his being because he didn’t want it to be true.

He stared at the clock. It had been two hours, eleven minutes, and fifteen seconds since Jack had run off.

Twenty seconds.

Twenty-five.

Thirty.

Thirty-five.

He kept counting.

He counted, that being the only thing grounding him.

He counted until he’d reached two hours and fifteen minutes.

Only then did he tear his eyes away from the clock.

Only then did he resolve to call Jack once it got dark.

It wouldn’t be long before that happened.

. . . How could he think that Pitch didn’t care? How could he even fathom that? Had he not seen how upset he was upon approaching him? Had he not seen?

Had he not seen him?

Pitch recalled every detail of Jack’s crestfallen visage. Pitch had told him he was leaving. Jack had heard he was being abandoned. That was the only explanation. Jack wouldn’t leave him like that if that weren’t the case. He wouldn’t . . . .

Unless he thought it better to leave than be left.

He shook the thought from his head. No. No, Jack wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to him.

He wouldn’t do that to Jack.

Did Jack really think that of him?

Dark. He had to wait until dark. Give the young man his space, he’ll come around. He was bound to. He had to.

Pitch needed him to.

\--

Now Jack was lying down. Now he was lying down and unable to move. He was in the exact spot he’d been when he’d lost his residence. Near the spot he usually came for peace and quiet. He was by the lake.

Lying on the cold ground.

Clutching his aching chest.

His phone hadn’t buzzed once and the only thing he really felt in his pocket was the check. The check he had been flaunting so proudly to Aster. It felt just as heavy as his body. All the hope he had felt . . . all the excitement . . . .

Gone.

Gone in the blink of an eye.

Pitch was leaving.

He was leaving, and Jack would be . . . he would be . . . .

He fist slammed into the dirt and he growled. He wasn’t as sad as he’d been. He was . . . angry. Angry at Pitch. Angry that he had . . . he had . . . .

Jack had given him everything and now he was just going to leave him.

He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want it to be true. He wanted none of it to have happened. Then again what had Jack expected? This was Pitch’s career. Pitch’s career required his movement. His career was his life, had always been his life aside from Sera. Did Jack really think Pitch was going to stay?

He had been fooling himself this whole time.

Right then and there, he closed his eyes and broke again. He broke harder. He’d been so stupid. He’d been so foolish, thinking that . . . that . . . he was ever anything more than a friend. And a fuck.

No. No, that wasn’t right. How could he think that? He couldn’t.

Slamming his head repeatedly into the ground, he tried to shake the thought. It wasn’t true. It made no sense.

“None of it makes sense,” he sobbed. “It makes no s-sense, it’s not f-fair.”

Nothing was fair. Nothing ever was.

The sooner he accepted that, the—

His phone buzzed.

Jack froze.

It buzzed again.

It was a call.

He started to reach for his pocket, but then stopped. What if it was Pitch? What if it wasn’t Pitch?

What the hell was he supposed to do?

Jack wanted to hear his voice. Jack wanted the nightmare to end. Then again, would it? He didn’t think so. This was too much like his life to not be real. Another goodbye. Another waste of time. Another face in the window he would never be able to say hi to again.

Get it over with, his head said. Get the goodbye over with. Move on a swiftly as possible.

Let his heart be broken so he could work on fixing it again. At least he had Aster and the others to help him through it this time.

But he wouldn’t have . . . .

His phone stopped buzzing just he reached for it. He squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled if free from his pocket anyway. Clutching it in his hand he kept his eyes shut, waiting for it to start buzzing again. If it was Pitch, it inevitably would. Pitch didn’t give up once he started something. Or so he thought.

Still, his phone started buzzing again. He cleared his throat and answered, but as soon as he heard Pitch talking his zoned out faster than he ever had before. He felt guilty. The least he could do was listen to what the other had to say. And yet he just felt annoyed and heavier over the myriad of questions. The ‘where are you’s and ‘are you okay’s. No, he wasn’t going to say where he was. No, he wasn’t okay. He simply responded with a ‘what do you want’ to all of Pitch’s questions.

And immediately felt guiltier when the silence dragged on for longer than he anticipated. “I,” Pitch started after a moment of dead silence. “I . . . had a proposition.”

Jack’s hurt mixed with his rage and he almost spat. He almost shouted that the answer was going to be ‘no’ no matter what the proposition was. But he hadn’t even heard it yet. “What is it?” he asked.

He heard Pitch take a deep breath. “I . . . I would understand. If you said no.” His voice was shaky. Pitch didn’t normally sound like this unless his daughter was in trouble or anxious. Jack hated the worry that crept up. “If you said no, I would . . . I would help you find somewhere to go. I would—”

“What’s the proposition?” he asked curtly. If he let Pitch ramble, he might just hang up with the way he was feeling.

Another moment of silence. Then . . ., “Wouldyougowithme?”

The mashed together words made sense for once. Jack couldn’t recall if he had been sitting up upon answering, but he was sitting up now. Leaning on the palm that wasn’t holding the phone, he gripped the cell in his hand roughly. Fingernails digging into frozen dirt, he stared wide-eyed over the lake. Go . . . with him. Pitch wanted him to . . . .

Thoughts clamored for supremacy in his head. Pitch didn’t want to leave him. Pitch was still leaving. Pitch wanted him to go with him. Pitch didn’t want to leave him behind. Pitch would have helped him anyway if he said ‘no.’ Pitch wouldn’t have abandoned him. Pitch was asking him to . . . to . . . .

Leave everything behind.

For him.

Jack shook his head. That . . . how could he . . . how was he going to . . . was this really happening? “W-what about my jobs?” He stuck to logical questions first. Left brain worked first, right took a backseat. He had three jobs. Three jobs to maintain his living expenses. Four if he counted his art, which was taking off.

“I’ll help you find new ones. I’ll help you make ends meet until you find something suitable.”

Jack nearly choked and sputtered. Was this happening? Was it really? Was Pitch really offering this? He had a myriad of other questions. What about his friends? His friends who were his employers? What if his artwork didn’t take off like it did here? Sure, like Toothiana and the others had suggested at some point, he could set up online commissions. Would that be suitable for him? He . . . he didn’t want to just leave everyone . . . everything he knew behind.

But he had done it so many times.

He had done it and survived.

His chest grew tight and he . . . he . . ., “I’ll think about it.”

He almost heard the heartbreak in the older man’s voice as he asked, “Think about it on your way home?”

Home. Pitch . . . was home. Jack nodded against the phone, then whispered, “Yeah.” He needed to go home.

They hung up without saying they loved each other, then Jack fell back on the ground. He needed to get up. He needed to get up and decide. Decide and go home.

Darkness was falling over the lake and all he could do was hang onto the fact that Pitch wanted him to stay with him. To go with him. But Jack was scared. He’d be leaving behind his safety net. Aster, Sandy, North, Toothiana, Searra, Jamie, everyone. He’d be leaving behind everyone who knew him and cared for him. It wasn’t like he’d never see them again, or that he couldn’t check in with them. He could also always stay here. Stay here and go back to living alone. Working for them, making his art. Alone.

Or . . . he could go with Pitch. Pitch, who had become his home.

Jack sat up, trying to force himself off the ground and into a standing position. His chest was tight and his limbs felt heavy. He hadn’t been alone before. He had to tell himself that, he hadn’t been alone before. He had only seen himself as alone. He had always had the others there for him. They had always cared for him.

But they hadn’t really seemed like a safety net until Pitch made him see them. Until Pitch had pointed them out.

Brushing the dirt, grass, and cold off himself, he went right back to staring out at the landscape. There were so many things he could attribute to Pitch having been there. He had grown at the side of the older man. He had stumbled, nearly fallen, and yet he’d grown. His life had become a rollercoaster from the first moment he had served Pitch at the coffee shop till now. He tried to pick apart all of what had happened had Pitch (and Sera) not been there for him.

He cringed.

Yes, the others were his safety net here in Burgess. He loved and cared for them dearly. But Pitch was the railing that kept him from falling in the first place.

And Jack had been on the verge of climbing over it and jumping.

Jack stood, staring and blinking away the tears that had since stopped freezing on his lashes. This . . . what a change . . . what a . . . long overdue change. Aside from his net, what was there for him here? His net, which he could figuratively take with him wherever he decided to go. What was really here for him in this small town? A club in which he’d been assaulted? An alley in which there’d been a fight he couldn’t remember? A college where friends had left him?

A club where he had been employed. A school where he had picked up and babysat children of close friends. A coffee shop where he had learned of some of the best and worst people living here in Burgess.

A lake where he had come to so often it practically reflected the mood he was in.

His wonder, hope, memories, dreams, nightmares, they all lie within the limits of this town. This town was everything to him.

Could he really leave?

Jack turned away from the lake, away from his longtime place of comfort. Walking with a sense of determination and purpose, he . . . he knew his answer. He knew it in his body, mind, and . . . he knew what it was.

It was time for him to go home to Pitch.

Home to Koz.


	20. Chapter 20

Dear Everyone,

I’ve never been good at writing letters, but it felt right. It felt like you all deserved more than just a goodbye and a hug. All of you have meant the world to me. You’ve been my family from the day I met you, though I’m sure Aster will be happy to point out I was too dumb to realize it. He was right (don’t let that go to your head man).

The farewell party we had tonight was . . . I don’t have the words. Koz was supposed to help me write this, but he thinks I’m doing fine (he’s giving me that look right now, someone really ought to wipe it off his face later). Anyway. I know he’ll miss Burgess. We both will. Me especially. But not as much as I’ll miss all of you. I just wanted to take the time to thank all of you. For everything.

Thank you for the fun times. Thank you for being there when times weren’t as fun. Thank you for keeping me employed (though Aster will still point out he should have fired me a while ago haha). Thank you for looking out for me and helping me learn the value of my work (I never would have figured out how to make prints without you Tooth). Just . . . thank you. You’ve done so much for me, and I should have shown you more gratitude than I did. Least, I think I should have.

Aster, I attached a list of all our locals’ favorite drinks like you asked. I’m sure Sera will still have magically obtained updates on our personal lives for you to entertain yourself with. Tooth and North, you should be receiving your orders from me the morning after Koz and I leave. Remember, please let Searra have her one chocolate milkshake a week. I think that’s the main reason she’ll miss me actually. Sandy, I hope the next man you hire is tougher than me. Also a little less of a smartass. That might have saved me some time, keeping my mouth shut, you know? Oh also, if you guys see Jamie and Sophie around, tell them they’re awesome and shouldn’t stop believing in the things they love and want. School’s been tough on them, but I think they’ll be fine. I want them to.

I honestly don’t know what’s going to happen without all of you guys there within walking distance. But . . . I know I’m going to be fine. I’ve got someone to look out for me. Right now, I can tell by his smile he’s probably just as worried as I am. But like I said. We’re going to be fine.

I think I will take a kid’s advice and just see this as a new adventure.

Wow, I’ve officially cheesed up this letter. Koz is reading over my shoulder and I can feel him judging the break in flow. Wonder if he knows I know how to hide his tea from him. Ha! Good, that made him walk away. Can you hear the scoff of the not-serial killer? It was great.

Anyway, I think it’s long overdue I say this: I love you guys. I’ll visit when I can. I’ll write, and email, and message you (from my new blog, hell yeah). I won’t forget any of you. You’ve done too much and mean too much to me.

Thank you again and I love you all.

Till I see you again.

Jackson Overland

Username, pen name, and artwork signed:  
Jack Frost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. The end of this has been a long time coming. But even though it should have been done years ago, I think . . . it ended when I needed it to. This fandom is still very much a home for me. It didn't feel right leaving this story unfinished. It also didn't feel right finishing it.
> 
> I think of letters as neutral for some reason. While this story has ended, it is still very much alive in me. You know? So Jack and I agreed to end it this way. I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Because in my mind, the end of Surprise Me isn't a goodbye. It's a hello.
> 
> Thank you to all of you who've stuck with me this long. Don't stop believing.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know how you thought this went.


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